


we dream in the dark for the most part

by theheadgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Aurors, F/M, Frottage, M/M, MACUSA | Magical Congress of the United States of America, Masturbation, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Multi, New York City, Oral Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, Wizarding World (Harry Potter), Wizarding World of the United States of America, basically an mcu crossover, you get an expy! you get an expy! everybody gets an expy!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:34:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23885338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheadgirl/pseuds/theheadgirl
Summary: When the body of a Hogwarts alumnus turns up in Central Park, the Ministry sends Hermione Granger to investigate the mysterious runes carved in his skin, accompanied by Percy Weasley. Working closely with Steve Graves, one of MACUSA's top Aurors, the investigation quickly turns very dark ... and very deadly.New chapters are posted every other day at 10:30ish - COMPLETE as of 5/21/2020
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Percy Weasley, Hermione Granger/Percy Weasley/OMC, Percy Weasley/OMC
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Holy wow, I can't believe this is finally done! I've been working on it for over a year now and I'm so glad to finally get it out into the world. I literally could not have done this without my incredible beta, adavison - if there's something in here you like, she made it the best it possibly could be. I hope you enjoy, and be sure to leave a comment!
> 
> If you Tumblr, and you'd like to spread the word, here's a pretty image/post to share! https://theheadgirl.tumblr.com/post/616745755437416448/we-dream-in-the-dark-for-the-most-part

_ New York City _

It isn't unusual to see a figure in a trench coat hurrying down the street, head ducked down, hands in pockets. It certainly isn’t unusual after sunset in November. It's cold and dark, and anyone with the choice would be aiming for the comforts of home and hearth instead. 

A man ducks into an alleyway. He glances up and down its length to ensure that he is alone, then turns to a ragged perfume advertisement on the wall and slips something from his sleeve, tapping it in a specific pattern against the poster. 

For a moment, the world is still. He holds his breath.

Then, with a soft series of clicks, the bricks roll back, revealing an entrance leading into a bar. He exhales, then goes inside, the bricks sliding into place behind him. Finally, here, he lifts his head, taking the whole place in. 

“Help you?” the bartender asks. There's no threat in his words, just a time limit.

“Just stopped raining,” he replies. The bartender jerks his head slightly towards the back, where another room is separated by a curtain of beads. 

He keeps his wand out as he heads further into the room. The beads clatter and whisper against each other when he pushes them aside, falling back into place behind him.

“You made it,” says the woman on the other side. She's so beautiful it almost hurts to look at her. 

“Thanks for inviting me,” he says. “It was a surprise to hear from you; it's been a while.”

When she smiles, she is dazzling like diamonds in direct sunlight. “I've been finding that it's important to reconnect with your past. You find out who you really are that way.” She gestures to the seat across from her. “Sit down. Something to drink?”

“Thanks.” He sits, and a man he hadn't noticed seems to appear from nowhere to fill a glass.

He isn’t sure why, but he sniffs the beer before taking a sip. It smells like beer, and he chides himself for being overly suspicious. It's hardly unusual for school friends to get together, is it? Even if it has been a while since he (or anyone, now that he thinks about it) had heard from her. But her message had been warm and inviting, if unexpected.

“So what have you been up to?” she asks. She holds her beer but doesn't sip from it, eyes bright, focused on him. 

“Here on holiday,” he replies with a smile. “Thought it would do me some good to get away from the Ministry, not be trapped behind a desk for a week or so.”

“What do you do at the Ministry?” She shifts in her seat, a little closer to him.

He takes a swig of his beer. “Accounting. Nothing too exciting, but it pays the bills.”

She tilts her head. “Anyone special at home? You were seeing someone when we were at school, weren't you?”

“Yeah, but it didn't last. No one at home, no.” He looks at her. “How about you? You've been in America for a while?”

“A couple of years,” she replies. “I was doing some research and found I had family in America, so I thought it would be nice to visit.”

“What's it been like?” he asks. “Meeting your family?”

She smiles. He blinks. Maybe it's the low light in the room, but there's something … unsettling about her mouth when she smiles. 

“It's been wonderful,” she replies. “I've learnt so much about myself and my family's past. Everyone has been so kind. I was told that people in New York would be cold or rude, but that's never been the case. It's been so welcoming.”

“Glad to hear it.” His nerves are running wild, and he takes another swig of beer to try and soothe them. It's just two old friends meeting up, there's no reason for him to be so on edge.

The rustle of the beads again catches his attention. He turns to see the curtains parting, allowing another person entrance. 

His breath catches. 

Like his companion, the new arrival is so lovely it's hard to look directly at her. She graces him with a smile, and despite her beauty, he feels a sharp chill up his spine.

Her teeth. Her teeth aren't quite right ...

“This is your friend?” the new arrival asks, examining him. “From back home?”

“Yes, he works for the Ministry now. In accounting.” The way she looks up at the other woman, making eye contact, makes him think this must be significant, but he has no idea how it could be. 

“Accounting,” the new arrival echoes, and she sounds absolutely delighted by it. “Excellent.” 

“You brought it?”

“I wouldn't forget something so important.” The new arrival reaches into her bag and pulls out a necklace. Even in the low light, the rubies seem to glow.

The alarm bells that have been steadily growing louder at the back of his head are deafening now. 

“I should go,” he says, getting to his feet. “It's getting late, I've got plans for tomorrow and -” He suddenly staggers as his head swims, and his vision blurs. He's only had half a beer; how is this possible? 

“The beer,” he says, and even those two words slur together. 

“Sorry,” his friend from back home says, though she doesn't sound sorry in the slightest. “We had to be sure you were compliant.” She gets up too, and it takes just a gentle press to his chest for him to sit again. She perches on the edge of the table then, and her fingers trace along his cheek. Her skin is cold, a little clammy. He shudders. “You are so important to us,” she continues. “We have such big plans for you.”

“What?” he asks.

She smiles. 

Out in front of the beaded curtains, the bartender winces slightly at the sudden, abrupt end to the man's scream, followed by an unmistakable thud. That poor sucker wasn't the first to be lured in by a pretty face, and he won't be the last, either. 


	2. Chapter 2

_London_

Hermione Granger checks her watch for what seems like the twentieth time in the last five minutes. It's always impossible to catch a lift close to the end of the day. Normally she wouldn't be too concerned, but she had a meeting and can't be late. The fact that she would still be five minutes early to the meeting even if she had to wait another fifteen for the lift is irrelevant.

Finally, there is a _DING_! announcing the arrival of a lift. The doors slide open. 

“Third floor, Magical Law Enforcement,” a cool female voice announces from inside the lift. 

Making her “excuse me’s and “pardon me’s,” Hermione pushes her way into the lift, staking out her spot. Her fingers tighten on her notebook and quill, and like everyone else, she stares straight ahead at the floor indicator. 

“Sixth floor, International Magical Cooperation.” 

Luckily, two other Ministry workers are getting off on the sixth floor as well, so it's easy to slip into their wake and exit the lift with little fuss. 

She checks her watch again. Fifteen minutes until the meeting. Better early than late though, so she continues down the hall to the administrative offices.

Voices hail her from other offices on the floor: “Afternoon, Granger!” “All right, Granger?” “Slumming it with us now, eh?”

Hermione answers each with a smile and greeting, although she honestly doesn't recognize half the people talking to her. It's a pitfall of working while famous, she supposes. They've got three names to remember, and she's got thousands. 

Finally, she makes it down the hall to the head office and knocks. 

“Hi, Aditi,” she says, recognizing the girl who answers the door from their shared lunch hour. “I'm here for Mr. Bell. 5:00?”

“Of course, come in.” Aditi gestures her in. “Mr. Bell is still with his previous appointment. Anything to drink while you wait?”

“No, thanks.”

It isn't long before the door flies open and a man comes storming out. He turns back to the open door and lets out a torrent of what sounds like rather abusive French. 

Eoin Bell appears in the door and yells back in equally rapid-fire French. Judging by the look on the other man's face, it was definitely abusive. He bites out a word that makes Hermione start (she understands the gist of it, even if not the specifics) and then slams the door behind him.

“Aditi, gimme a minute - oh, Granger, you're here. Just a minute, please.” Bell goes back into his office and closes the door forcefully. 

“Okay,” Hermione says to the closed door. Aditi shakes her head. 

“Mr. Bell never has a good time when Mr. Rousseau comes,” she explains. “I'm sorry you had to see that.”

True to his word, Bell reappears a minute or so later, looking calmer. “Come in, Granger. We're expecting one more. Aditi, let him in when he gets here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hermione enters the inner sanctum of the International Magical Affairs office and takes a seat.

Bell sits behind his desk placing some books in front of him. Hermione watches closely for some hint of what she's been called here for. They appear to be guidebooks, of some sort? New York City, if she isn’t mistaken. 

Why does he have guidebooks to New York?

“Mr. Bell, Mr. Weasley is here. I'm sending him in.” Aditi’s magically amplified voice comes from a painting on the wall. 

Hermione feels a small shiver of panic down her spine. Mr. Weasley? Oh, no, it can't be Ron, can it? Is he the other person? It's not that their breakup wasn't amicable or that they've been anything but friendly since, but this seems like a lot.

“Send him in.”

The door opens, and Mr. Weasley enters. 

To her relief, it isn't Ron.

To her surprise, it _is_ Percy.

He nods to Bell. “Mr. Bell.” His eyes move to her, and she sees her surprise mirrored on his face. “Hermione?” It's less a greeting than a question.

“Good afternoon,” she says, feeling more than a little awkward.

He nods to her, then sits in the other chair, crossing his legs. 

“Now that we're all acquainted,” Bell says, “let's get to business.” He turns in his chair and rifles through some file folders behind his desk, finally sliding one out. “Hope you two aren't too squeamish.”

It's the only warning they get before he opens the folder. Hermione gasps, covering her mouth with her hands. Percy winces back as well.

In the folder is a picture of a man - although he's so covered in blood that it's hard to tell much else. Something keeps catching Hermione’s eye, and she realizes, with a thrill of horror, that it's the light reflecting off the puddles of blood around him. 

“Who is this?” Percy asks. Hermione glances over and sees he's gone very pale, but he can't seem to take his eyes off the picture. 

“Demetrius Grey,” Bell replies, and Percy exhales, shaky. 

“He works for the Ministry, doesn't he?” Hermione asks, recognizing the name. 

Bell nods. “Accounting. He was on holiday to America, then this happened.” He taps the photo. “They found him in Central Park the day before he was supposed to leave.”

“Do they know - what, or why?” Percy asks. 

“No. That's where you two come in.”

Hermione leans back. “I'm sorry?”

“Anything look familiar, Granger? On his skin?”

Hermione forces herself past the revulsion to look closer, now taking in the skin - almost uniformly covered with a red sheen. There’s something -

“Are those runes carved on his skin?” she asks. She can’t help herself, her brain skipping ahead of her good sense, trying to translate them.

“They are,” Bell confirms. “Whatever this was, it had rules and rituals around it. We don't know if Grey was specifically targeted or if it was a random attack.” He puts the picture away, much to Hermione's relief. “Granger, I've heard nothing but good things from Carroll about your rune translation work with the Department of Mysteries. You were the first and only name he gave me. Weasley, Minister Shacklebolt said you're his go-to when it comes to dealing with MACUSA; you'll be working with Auror Graves.”

Percy nods. He still looks very pale but resolved.

“You're leaving for America tomorrow.”

“I'm sorry?” Hermione blurts. “America? _Tomorrow_?”

“You can't translate the runes from the photo,” Bell points out. “They're all over his body. MACUSA has created a model, you could call it, of the runes on Grey and the other victims -”

“This isn’t the first victim?” Percy asks.

Bell looks irritated at the interruption. “No, Grey is the third. These models don’t travel, though; very delicate magical composition. You’ve got to go to them. Pack tonight, you’re leaving early tomorrow morning.”  
  
“How are we getting there?” Hermione asks. Apparating overseas seems dangerous, and certainly, the Floo Network wouldn’t extend over to America. 

“You’re flying. Heathrow to Newark.” Bell sorts through the papers on his desk and pulls out two UK passports, tickets, and the guidebooks Hermione had noticed earlier. “The guidebooks will help you maintain your cover as tourists, and they've also got a few extras. Granger, take one.”

Hermione picks up the top guidebook and flips through it. It looks like a standard Muggle guidebook, telling them how to get to the Statue of Liberty and Central Park. She looks up at Bell, wondering what to do next.

“Go to the back. The notes section.”

She does, and finds several blank pages with the heading “notes.”

“Now tap each corner with your wand - top right, top left, bottom left, bottom right.”

Hermione taps her wand in the correct pattern, and ink swims up to the surface of the page, spilling into words and sentences. It's information about Grey, it seems, and about where he was found and what he was doing while in New York. 

“Information you may need on the go,” Bell explains. “Now do it again, in the opposite order.” The words sink back into the page. It reminds Hermione of the way Harry had described the ink in Tom Riddle’s diary acting, and though she's sure this isn't a Horcrux, part of her mind wonders -

“Now if you need to tell us something - say, what those runes mean - you'll go top left, top right, bottom right, bottom left. Anything you write in there will be copied in here.” Bell holds up an identical guidebook. “To wipe it, you'll go the opposite way. Make absolutely sure you wipe it when you're done with it. We don't want this information falling into the wrong hands.

“Now, about those passports -”

Hermione hesitantly raises her hand. Bell pauses, eyebrows lifted. 

“I already have a passport,” she says. “It's still good for another few years.”

“Don't use yours,” Bell says. “Granger and Weasley are still too high-profile of names to travel under. Someone in the magical community finds out Hermione Granger is coming to America immediately after a British citizen was killed with runes carved in his skin, word gets to the wrong ears, the whole operation closes up shop and we never catch the guy. But Helen Jones?” He shrugs. “Doesn't cause a ripple.”

Hermione reaches for one of the passports and flips it open. Staring back at her is a non-moving version of the photo on Percy's Ministry ID card, and the text states it belongs to Edmund Sutton, British citizen, from Devon. 

“This is yours,” she says, handing it to him. He nods in thanks, taking it, and he checks it before tucking it into his briefcase. Hermione watches him for a moment, and wonders how someone as firmly rule-abiding as Percy can possibly be okay with traveling under a false identity, with false credentials. The war changed a lot of things for a lot of people, but surely that's a step too far. 

The other passport is registered to Helen Jones, British citizen, from Lancashire. Like Percy's, it has a non-moving version of her ID photo, and it looks to be real in every way she can think to verify.

“They’re real,” Bell says, as though reading her mind. “We have a contact in the passport office. No one will have any reason to think you're not Helen Jones as long as you don't give them one.”

He sits back in his chair. “Be sure to read the guidelines that are in with your tickets very carefully. The Americans are very strict about their security.” He hands over the tickets. “Granger, I think that's all I've got for you. Be at the airport bright and early tomorrow morning. Another moment of your time, Weasley?”

“Of course, sir,” Percy says. Understanding she's dismissed, Hermione gathers her things and nods her goodbyes to Percy and Mr. Bell. 

Out in the anteroom, she hesitates, holding the strap of her messenger bag. Is she expected to wait for Percy? It's not like they're going home in the same direction, but she thinks she would like to talk to him about all of this. Tomorrow at the airport or on the airplane doesn't seem secure enough. 

Aditi has already left, so Hermione takes a seat in one of the chairs, taking a moment to review the passport and ticket given to her. It is indeed made out to Helen Jones, departing Heathrow at 7:55 AM and arriving in New Jersey just before 11:00. It's been a while since she's flown internationally and she wonders if Percy ever has. 

She's unfolded the security guidelines and is reviewing them when the door to Bell's office opens again.

“Good night, Mr. Bell. I'll keep you updated.” Percy closes the door and, in the moment before he realizes he's not alone, inhales deeply. His breath catches a little on the exhale. He turns, and then stops abruptly, seeing Hermione. “You waited?”

“I wanted to talk to you about this,” Hermione says. She holds up the ticket and passport. 

Percy considers the papers she's holding, then nods. “Let's get something to eat.”

Once they’ve reached the Apparition point in the Ministry atrium, Percy holds his arm out to her. Although she’s sure they’ll go to the Leaky Cauldron or one of the other myriad restaurants in Diagon Alley, and she knows how to Apparate there on her own, she still takes it, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach as she rests her hand in the crook of his arm. 

However, to her surprise, they Apparate outside of a crowded Muggle pub not far from the Ministry. They manage to grab a table near the edge of the crowd.

“Here?” Hermione asks, surprised, setting her messenger bag on the floor between her feet. Percy nods.

“No one’s going to look at us twice here,” he explains. A waitress stops by, and Percy orders a beer while Hermione, after a moment's hesitation, gets a glass of wine. Once she's left, he continues, “If we went to the Leaky Cauldron, people would wonder why we were out together. Ministry business or a ‘blooming romance?’” Hermione has never seen finger quotes deployed with quite so much viciousness. “I don't want to end up in _Witch Weekly_ again because the wrong person saw us.”

Hermione laughs. “Okay, that's true. I think you and Bill are the only Weasleys that the tabloids haven't paired me with.” Ginny's tendency of tactile affection towards her friends had inspired at least three breathless stories about how the Boy Who Lived’s girlfriend was stepping out on him with his best friend. _The scandal!_

It's ironic, too, considering. Nearly a year ago, Hermione had run into Percy in the commissary late one night. They bought tea, and he offered her the use of his office while she was working late, so they could both have some company.

"It's proven to boost productivity," he'd told her, which didn't sound true, but the silence in her office had been making her ears ring, so she took him up on the offer.

That night led to another, and another, and another, which led to Percy inviting her to dinner one night, which had, ultimately, led to them ending up in bed together. It had been fun, and it hadn't changed much of anything about their relationship. Sometimes Hermione wondered if she wanted it to change, what it would be like to date him officially, but she liked the low-key nature of things. There were few areas of her life with no pressure, and despite being one of the most high-strung people she knew, Percy never asked anything of her that she didn't already want to give. 

“So,” Percy says, lowering his voice slightly after the waitress drops off their drinks, “what did you want to talk about?”

“Well - _this_. I mean, it all seems quite rushed and a bit cloak and dagger, doesn't it? False names, flying to America with only a day's notice? Someone _died_ , Percy. I don't know if we're the right people for this. It seems there ought to be loads of other people in International Cooperation or Magical Law Enforcement who would be more qualified for this.”

“Mr. Bell already said why you're going; no one else in the Ministry has the level of knowledge of ancient runes that you do,” Percy points out. “I've worked with MACUSA before and it's not …” He exhales, trying to think of the right words. “It's _unusual_ , but not completely unbelievable, that you and I would be traveling together. For your first time traveling overseas for the Ministry, it makes sense that you would be paired with someone you know. If we come across anyone magical it won't raise too many eyebrows.”

The waitress stops by again. “Ready to order?”

“Shepherd's pie,” Percy says. 

Hermione glances at the menu. “Fish and chips, please.”

“You've got it,” says the waitress. “I'll bring it by shortly.”

Once she's gone, Hermione leans in again. “Did you know him?” she asks, hushed. 

Though he looks like he'd rather do anything but answer Percy nods. “Yes. We moved in the same social circles, had some mutual friends. Knowing that happened to him is …” He trails off, taking a sip of beer. 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione says because she doesn’t know what else to say. She wishes Mr. Bell had shown them a picture of what Demetrius Gray had looked like when he was alive, so she would know the young man Percy had known, not the mutilated corpse he’d ended up as. 

“Thank you,” Percy replies. The conversation peters out at that point. Hermione, feeling slightly on edge, takes a drink of her wine just to give herself something else to focus on. Percy drags his finger absently around the rim of his glass, lost in his own thoughts. 

Once the waitress brings their food, Hermione brings up the Erumpent in the room. “Have you flown internationally before?”

“A few times,” he replies. “I don’t really care for it, but it’s safer than Apparating such a long distance. You’d end up Splinching yourself. Have you? Flown internationally, I mean?”

“A few times, yes,” she says. “Never as far as this, though. What do you bring to entertain yourself?”

To her surprise, he smiles a little, just a quirk of the corner of his mouth. It’s small but feels genuine.

“I sleep, mostly. I take a Draught of Peace when I’ve gotten into my seat and do my best not to wake up until we’re there. I’m not really the person to ask about it.”

“I’ll bring a book,” she offers, and he turns that crooked little smile on her, and she smiles back. She has no idea what to expect, but she feels steadied knowing that at least Percy will be there alongside her. 


	3. Chapter 3

Before they leave the pub and go their separate ways, Percy advises that she arrive at Heathrow three hours before the flight the next morning.

“Mr. Bell was very serious about the Americans and their security procedures,” he warned her. “It can take ages to get through.”

They agreed to meet at Heathrow at five A.M., which has the unfortunate side effect of Hermione having to be dressed and at least sort of awake at five A.M. Unsure of the duration of their trip, she opts for a large bag to check and a large purse to carry with her (though it had to be noted she could have fit everything in the checked bag into her purse - Undetectable Extension charms were quite useful even if one wasn’t on the lam). She pulls her scarf a bit tighter around her neck and watches London flash by outside of her cab. It would have been more economical to take the Tube, but that also would have required leaving the flat much earlier. There are only so many sacrifices a person can be expected to make.

The cab slows and comes to a stop outside Terminal Three of Heathrow. Even this early, the airport is bustling. The cab driver gets her bag out of the trunk, and Hermione counts her cash and gives it to him.

“Thanks, have a good one,” she says, extending the handle of her bag and smiling at him. 

“You too, miss; safe travels,” he replies, then gets back into the cab and drives away. 

Rolling her bag behind her, Hermione enters the terminal, shivering a little at the contrast between the cold outside and the warmth inside. She glances around for Percy, wondering if she’s arrived before him, then checks her watch. It’s five till five, so she is a little early. 

At precisely five o’clock, the automatic doors open again, admitting a burst of cold air, and Percy along with it. Like her, he carries a rolling suitcase and a briefcase. He spots her and lifts a hand in greeting as he moves to join her.

“Good morning,” he says. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long?”

“I just arrived myself,” she replies. 

“Let’s get going, then. The sooner we get through this,” he nods to the security line, “the sooner we can eat. Mum sent enough muffins to feed everyone on the flight.”

Hermione laughs. Of course Mrs. Weasley would have over-prepared her son for the flight. After all, they’ll be up in the air for eight hours, and she can almost hear Mrs. Weasley fussing about the quality of the food on these Muggle flights.

They check their luggage at the front desk for British Airways, and Hermione doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath as the attendant checks her passport and ticket until she’s handed them back with a smile.

“Have a safe flight, Miss Jones.”

“Thanks,” Hermione replies after a moment too long. If the attendant notices the odd pause, she doesn’t say anything, just turns to Percy to collect “Mr. Sutton’s” luggage as well. 

“Just remember,” Percy says softly as they approach the security line, “don’t look nervous, don’t hesitate. You  _ are _ Helen Jones. You’ll be fine.”

Hermione glances at him. “We need to talk about how you’re fine with this, Mr. Sutton,” she says, and that crooked half-smile flashes across his mouth again before he nods.

Percy goes first, presenting his ticket and passport to the security agent. Hermione tries not to have a heart attack as the agent carefully examines the passport, then makes a few marks on the ticket and hands it back. Percy continues on to the security line, and Hermione offers her ticket and passport as well. Her heart is beating so loudly in her chest she thinks everyone in Heathrow must be able to hear it. Then the security agent hands back her papers and waves her through.

Hermione hurries on. Honestly, after pretending to be Bellatrix Lestrange and breaking into Gringotts, using a false name at the airport ought to be nothing. For some reason, though, a false name combined with her true face is unsettling. It feels more wrong than a Polyjuice disguise.

They make it through the security line without incident and find their gate with little trouble. Once they’ve gotten their seats, Percy sets his briefcase on his lap and flips a switch on one of the latches, then opens it.

“What sort of muffin would you like?” he asks, pulling out a bag that is far too large for the briefcase to hold. “I think Mum made blueberry, chocolate chip, banana, and cranberry orange.”

“Blueberry, please. She made all of those last night?” Hermione asks, taking the proffered muffin and biting into it. 

“Of course. She brought them over by Floo this morning. I also got an earful about how ‘Eoin Bell ought to be more thoughtful about people’s needs and can’t have people haring off to America with no warning.’” He shakes his head, selecting a cranberry orange muffin, and puts the bag back into the briefcase. Once it’s closed, he flips the switch again and sets it down between his feet.

“Speaking of haring off to America,” Hermione says, then casts a significant look at the ticket that clearly states EDMUND SUTTON. “You don’t strike me as the type who’d be all right with … that.”

“Breaking the rules, you mean?” Percy asks, and Hermione isn’t quite surprised to hear the acid under the words. He continues, more softly, “It’s like Mr. Bell said. It’s for our safety. You have a famous name, and some people might - try something.” He spots the offended look on Hermione’s face and continues, hurriedly, “Of course I know you’re more than capable of defending yourself, but wouldn’t you rather not have to worry about it at all?”

Hermione waits because she gets the feeling this isn’t all of it, but Percy just takes a rather pointed bite of his muffin and doesn’t say anything else, so she supposes that’s all she’s going to get for now. 

They're called to board about half an hour before the scheduled departure time. Percy and Hermione are seated about halfway back, in a pair of seats on one side of the plane.

“You can have the window,” Percy tells her. “I won't be taking advantage of the view.” 

“Really not a fan of flying, hmm?” Hermione asks.

“Given the option, I'd rather travel otherwise,” he tells her, and she wonders if that's why he never seemed as enthused about Quidditch as his siblings were. She'd just presumed he didn't care for the rough-and-tumble nature of the game, but perhaps a fear of heights played into it, too. 

Once they're settled in, and the rest of the passengers have boarded, the flight attendants do their safety spiel. Hermione spots a small phial in Percy's hand, filled with a pearlescent blue liquid, shifting and catching the light as he twirls it absently between his fingers. 

“Is that the Draught of Peace?” she asks softly. He nods.

“I don't want to be rude and sleep through the instructions. Just in case.”

As soon as the flight attendant is done, though, he reaches into his briefcase again and removes a small travel pillow, settling it against the headrest.

“Good night,” he says. “See you in America.”

Hermione smiles at him. “See you in America.”

He uncaps the phial and downs its contents, dropping it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He takes off his glasses as well and conscientiously tucks them into the breast pocket of his jacket, then closes his eyes. Within seconds, it seems, his breathing evens out, leaving Hermione to her book. 

The flight is relatively uneventful. Percy sleeps the entire time, leaving the flight attendant to pass Hermione her tea, then later her lunch, over him. He’s actually rather good company - no small talk or interrupting her reading, but he does budge over when she needs to use the toilet. 

“Excuse me,” she says softly, waiting in the aisle to get back to her seat. Percy shifts, drawing his legs up, and Hermione slips past. Once she’s sitting again, he stretches his legs back out, still completely asleep. It’s sweet. She wouldn’t have thought it would be a skill he had but growing up in a big family, it was likely something he had to develop. She watches him for a moment: his face relaxed in sleep, the worry lines that have already developed across his forehead smoothed out. He shifts in his seat, and she picks up her book again. There are still hours to go, and she's just getting to the good part.


	4. Chapter 4

When they land at Newark, the wheels hit the ground with a solid _thud_ , shaking the plane. Percy starts awake, blinking owlishly. He fumbles for his glasses and puts them on, blinking to clear his vision.

“Are we in America?”

“We just landed.” Hermione cranes her neck to look out the window and see if she can spot New York. 

Percy checks his watch. Tsking softly, he unbuckles it from his wrist and sets the time. Once it reads the local time, he puts it back on.

“We’re a little early.”

“Is that likely to be a problem?”

“No, our contact is very punctual; I’m sure he’s already here. I just hope it doesn’t take too long to collect our bags.” 

As it turns out, their bags are practically the last on the carousel. They quickly gather their things and start towards the crowd of drivers.

“How will we know ours?” Hermione asks. 

“He'll have a sign.” Percy scans the crowd. He knows their MACUSA contact will stand out from the crowd. Still, he searches until he spots a sign reading SUTTON/JONES.

“There he is.” Beside him, he hears Hermione gasp. It's not an unusual reaction to Steve Graves. He's quite a lot to take in.

Their contact, MACUSA Auror Agent Steven Graves, holds the sign with their false names on it. He wears a leather jacket, jeans, and boots, aviator-style sunglasses perched on top of his head. His clothes, however, are not what make him stand out. It's the fact that he's taller, and approximately twice as broad, as most of the other people waiting. He doesn't quite reach Hagrid's proportions, but Hermione does wonder if there might be some giant blood in there somewhere. 

To make him stand out more, he's also incredibly handsome. Dark blond hair carefully styled, clear blue eyes, a face that looks like it was carved from marble. People do double-takes as they walk past him, and there's more than one flurry of whispers.

Percy walks up to him, checks the sign. “I'm Edmund Sutton,” he says. “This is Miss Jones.”

“ID?” Graves asks, sounding bored. 

Percy nods and pulls his Ministry ID out of his wallet. A moment later, Hermione seems to shake herself out of it and pulls out her own. Graves checks them, hands them back, then offers his. It positively identifies the man before them as Steven Graves, Auror. 

Once Percy hands back the ID, Steve holds out his hand to Hermione.

“Take your bag, Miss Jones?”

“Oh! Certainly. Thank you.” She rolls her bag forward so he can take it, and he leads them out of the airport to one of the parking garages. Parked near the front is a large black SUV, and though the seals on the number plate mark it as a government vehicle, it's the vague sense of intimidation and unease that seems to radiate off of it that indicates it belongs to MACUSA.

Steve hoists the two bags into the trunk with little effort, then goes around front to open the driver's side door. Percy ignores Hermione's protests and climbs in the back seat.

“I've been here before. You'll appreciate the views up front.” 

Hermione goes into the front passenger seat and, as she buckles in, takes a look at the inside. 

“This just seems like a regular car,” she says, frowning a little. 

“It is a regular car, for the most part,” Steve replies, pulling his door shut. “We can't modify it too much - don't want the No-Majs noticing anything. There are a few improvements, though. Did you feel a little intimidated when you got close to it?”

“Yes,” Hermione says, then realizes, “A Muggle-repelling charm, of course! I've never heard of one that operates with an emotional aura.”

“Yeah, it's great. No one parks next to it so I never have to worry about door dings.” He starts the car, then glances in the rearview mirror at Percy. “How's your mom?”

“She asked me to send you her best. I've got muffins from her in here.” He pats the briefcase.

“Tell your mom she's my favorite person.” 

He stops the car at the entrance to the parking garage and inserts the ticket to exit. With the hand not holding the steering wheel, Steve slides his wand out of his jacket and makes a gesture at the machine. It beeps, then the gate lifts, allowing them out. 

“Government clearance,” he explains to Hermione.

“How's your sister? Any word from her?” Percy asks once they're on the road to New York 

Steve shrugs those impossibly broad shoulders. “She turned up out of the blue to ask for money a couple of weeks ago and then vanished again. Typical Sarah.”

“When did you two work together?” Hermione asks. It seemed they didn't even know each other at the airport, but here in the car, they were chatting like old friends.

“It's been a couple of times, hasn't it?” Steve asks Percy. 

Percy nods. “Once immediately after the Triwizard Tournament to convince the Americans that everything was fine and there was nothing to worry about, and then again right after the war to convince the Americans that we were no longer being run by an evil shadow government. I keep getting assigned Steve as my contact.”

“Is that a _problem_?” Steve asks, grinning. “I can arrange for another escort if you're tired of me.”

“Don't be dramatic, Graves,” Percy says. “You're perfectly adequate.”

“You do know how to make a guy feel special,” Steve grouses. 

Hermione leans forward to get a better view of the oncoming city through the windshield. The tall metal buildings catch the early afternoon sunshine, and though it's not much different from London, she still feels a thrill of awe.

“Like it?” Steve asks her. “Greatest city in the world. I'm sure London's great, but it's got nothing on us.” He looks at the city like he owns it, like it's his personal triumph. 

“Are you from here?” Hermione asks. 

Steve grins. Even from the back seat, Percy can see that Hermione looks a little overwhelmed by its brilliance.

“Brooklyn born and bred. I live a block away from the apartment that I grew up in. You won't be staying there, though - there's a place near headquarters we own.”

Steve regales them with facts about New York (and how it always stacks favorably against London) as they drive through the tunnel under the Hudson River. He points out the Brooklyn Bridge to them when they pass by (“I hope I can take you there, you'd love it"), and finally pulls up to a parking garage about a block away from the imposing silhouette of the Woolworth Building. 

“Hermione, there's a badge in there,” he gestures to the glove compartment, “can you grab it for me?”

“Sure, of course,” Hermione says. She pulls it open and finds a metal badge shaped like a star. In the center is the MACUSA logo, with “M.A.C.U.S.A" curved along the top, and “LAW ENFORCEMENT” along the bottom. She hands it to Steve, who pulls up alongside the gate blocking the entrance to the garage and holds out the badge. For a moment, nothing happens, then there's a brief, loud buzz and the gate lifts. They navigate the levels of the parking garage and Steve grabs a spot on the third level. Before he gets out of the car, he pins the badge onto his jacket, then goes around to get Hermione's door.

“Hope you aren't too jet-lagged,” he says. “We wanted you to meet who you'd be working with as soon as possible. Not expecting you to do too much today, but at least we're getting the tour in.”

“I think I'll manage,” Hermione says. She glances at Percy. He nods, and Steve smiles.

“Great. You didn't have much of a choice anyway,” he winks, “but willingness makes it a lot easier. This way.” 

They take a tiny, disgusting lift down to the ground floor, and step into New York City properly for the first time. Like in the pictures Hermione has seen, the buildings tower high above them, crowded tightly together, and even at two o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon, the sidewalks are crowded.

Even so, people seem to leave a respectful distance between themselves and Steve, like his sheer size is a deterrent. It works out well for Hermione and Percy, in his wake, not needing to fight any real crowds. 

“Here we go,” Steve says. At the entrance to the Woolworth Building, he pulls out his ID card and taps it against the card reader attached to the wall. 

Behind the revolving door, Hermione can see the lobby of the building, and she wonders how an entire magical government can work in a Muggle office building. Surely they notice.

Steve leads them into the building and, before her eyes, the lobby changes. Now, the ceiling is vaulting up above them, and the walls are brilliantly gold. An instrument measuring the “magical exposure threat level" hangs above them, the needle hovering between green and yellow. Numbers on the walls keep track of various magical occurrences, some of them changing so fast they're just a blur of light, and some never changing. A huge moving poster of the current president, Seda Noori, watches over the chaos with a beatific smile. 

Hermione feels like there's too much for her to see. The Ministry used to feel very impressive and intimidating, but it lost a significant amount of grandeur when she started working there and passing through the atrium every day. With the gold, the numbers, the sheer height of it, MACUSA is a lot to take in. Adding to the sense of ‘too much,’ the lobby is a seething mass of humanity, full of witches and wizards in sharp, tailored suits and dresses, carrying briefcases and huge leather purses. 

“Steve!” one witch calls out. She clatters up the stairs in her stiletto heels to join them. She's wearing a skin-tight black dress with a black cropped cardigan over it, and her red hair is cut into a long bob. “Good to see you again, Mr. Weasley.”

“You too, Miss Ryzhkov.” They shake hands. 

“Hermione,” Steve says, “this is Natasha Ryzhkov. She's also an Auror. Nat, this is Hermione Granger. She'll be working with Peter and Shuri on the Grey case.”

“Ah.” Natasha grins. “Good luck. I hope you brought earplugs.”

“Why,” Hermione starts, but Natasha’s attention is already back to Steve. 

“You're taking them on the tour? Mind if I join?” 

“Why not?” Steve asks. “I thought we'd take them up to the lab first.”

With Steve at the front and Natasha hovering near the back, Percy feels a bit like they've got an honor guard. It's nice to catch up with Nat, too; they haven't worked as closely as he and Steve have but it's still good to see a familiar face. 

“Here we are,” Steve says. The doors of the lift part and he hands a dollar to the house-elf operating it. The elf taps a salute to him and the dollar vanishes into its uniform. 

“You tip the house-elves?” Hermione asks, delighted. “They're paid?”

“Of course,” says Natasha. “They get the same benefits as the rest of us. You'll never catch a house-elf taking a voluntary day off, though.”

“Wonderful!” Hermione says. “We really could take a thing or two from here.”

The parts of MACUSA that are not meant to overwhelm and intimidate look much more like a regular office building. They've stepped off on the sixth floor (“Research Labs and Magical Forensics") and the floor is tiled with beige marble, the walls a plain white. Doors line the hall, and they catch snatches of conversation and unusual noises as they pass each one. 

“Lab 5,” Steve says. He knocks on the door and pushes it open. “Pete? Shuri?”

“Don't take another step!” a woman calls from the back of the lab. “And don't let it escape!”

“Don't let what escape - oh!” 

‘It’ rushes towards them, a spider the size of a small dog, but instead of black and hairy, it gleams shiny silver in the overhead lights. Steve uses his not-inconsiderable size to block the doorway, and Natasha pulls out her wand. She makes a sharp gesture with it, and the spider topples over. Its legs twitch feebly once, twice, then it lays still. 

“Did you kill it? Don't kill it!” The woman who spoke earlier steps forward, revealing herself to be about Hermione's age, with smooth dark skin and her hair in elaborate braids. “I just said don't let it escape!”

“It's not going anywhere now,” Natasha says. “Is Peter here?”

“Peter!” the woman calls towards the back of the lab. A young man steps forward, also about Hermione's age, and he looks much more like a stereotypical lab dweller - gawky and pale, with ruffled dark hair and some kind of unidentifiable substance on his cheek. 

“You're Hermione Granger!” he says, shock and delight spilling across his face. “You're the one who's working with us?” He turns to Shuri. “She helped defeat that Voldemort guy!”

Percy winces at the name. Hermione looks embarrassed. 

“Hermione, this is Peter Clark and Shuri Atieno,” Steve says, cutting across before Peter can continue gushing. “Peter, Shuri, you'll be working with Hermione to translate the runes from the body.”

“Great!” says Peter. “Are you here for that now? Come on, there's so much to show you -”

“Hold your horses, Pete,” Steve says. “They're getting the tour right now. You'll get Miss Granger tomorrow.”

“Don't trumpet it around too much, either,” Natasha adds. “Just in case.”

They say their goodbyes to Peter and Shuri, and Steve guides them back into MACUSA proper. Hermione's cheeks are still pink, and she looks like she's fighting back a smile. 

The rest of the tour around MACUSA is uneventful - they meet some of the other Aurors, see the commissary, and get their visitor badges. 

By the time they're finishing up, Hermione is having difficulty not yawning. It's been a long day, and though it's only a little after four in New York, it's just after nine in London, and she's been up for what seems like an inhumanly long time. 

“Let's get to the apartment,” Steve says. “You can get settled in and then we'll grab dinner if you want.”

“We won't be in a hotel?” Hermione asks. She just realizes she hadn't given any thought to sleeping arrangements, really. She'd presumed they would be staying in a hotel. 

“No, MACUSA has an apartment building,” Steve explains. “It's close, and if it were warmer, we'd walk.” He unlocks the car and gets Hermione's door for her. 

On the quick drive to the apartments, Steve points out a few interesting sights like Wall Street, Trinity Church, and Bowling Green Park. 

“Hopefully you'll be able to escape from the lab long enough to see it,” he tells Hermione. 

“I'd like that,” she says. She glances in the rearview mirror, at Percy. He's staring out the window of the back seat, and he must feel her looking at him because he meets her eyes in the mirror and smiles a little. She smiles back.

“What will you be doing while we're here, Percy?” she asks. “I know you came here to accompany me, but that's not all, is it?”

He shrugs. “Accompanying you was the most of it. While you're working with Mr. Clark and Ms. Atieno, I suppose I'll do some sightseeing, or get some reading done.”

“That sounds dangerously close to a vacation, Perce,” Steve teases.

“I beg your _pardon_ ,” Percy says, scowling a little. “It's not a holiday, it's time that hasn't been officially structured by the Ministry.”

“Where you sightsee around New York and read,” Steve points out. “Sure, it's not a vacation.” He winks at Hermione, and she can't help but laugh. 

The apartment building is very near MACUSA headquarters. It’s tall but otherwise unremarkable. Like the car, it emits a faint but unmistakable air of menace, and most of the people on the sidewalk hurry past it. Once they've parked in the underground parking garage, they find the lift up to the building. 

“Tap your badge,” Steve says to Hermione, pointing to a pad near the lift. “They'll be your way into the building, the apartment, and MACUSA, so keep them with you at all times. May as well make sure it works.” 

Hermione taps her badge against the reader and the lift immediately opens. Inside, it looks like a regular lift, but as they step inside and the doors close, the MACUSA logo appears on the back of the lift, and in the space of a blink, there's lush red carpet on the floor and gold on the walls. 

They get off on the sixteenth floor and Steve leads them to an apartment near the corner. He has Percy test his badge here, and the door clicks open.

The flat itself doesn't seem to have been magically enlarged, but there's definitely floor-to-ceiling windows that don't have counterparts outside. The main room has a huge sectional couch surrounding a large TV and a couple of bookshelves, and directly off it is a kitchen with granite countertops, a very sleek refrigerator, and an island with stools surrounding it. 

“Bedrooms are down this way,” Steve says, leading them down the hall. The first door on the left is a bathroom with a shower much larger than the room should have been able to accommodate, and even a Jacuzzi. 

"I'm in here," Steve says, gesturing to the room across from the bathroom.

"You're staying with us?" Hermione asks.

Steve nods. "You're a potentially very valuable target. I'm with you 24/7."

"It's standard MACUSA protocol," Percy adds. "For high-profile foreign guests, they usually assign an agent to ensure the guest's time is as incident-free as possible."

Steve laughs. "Are you quoting _directly_ from the literature?"

"I'd call it more of a paraphrase."

The tour continues to Hermione and Percy's rooms, across from each other a bit down the hall. 

“Hermione, you'll be in here,” Steve says. Her roller bag is already inside, standing at the foot of the bed. The room is generously sized with a huge bed, a dresser, and a desk. 

“It's wonderful,” says Hermione. “This is much better than a hotel. Thank you, Steve.”

“Don't thank me, I'm just the messenger,” Steve replies.

Once they've finished the tour, Steve excuses himself to get dinner (“you've _got_ to have New York style pizza on your first night here”) and Percy and Hermione wait for him on the ludicrously huge couch in the living room. 

“What do you think so far?” Percy asks.

“It's all a bit overwhelming, isn't it?” Hermione replies. “The MACUSA building, the flight, the flat - everything just feels so much more here than it does back home.”

“I still feel a little overwhelmed by it all,” Percy admits. “When I walk into MACUSA and there's all that gold and all the people - Steve says it's on purpose, as a show of strength.”

“He’d know about shows of strength,” Hermione says without thinking, and Percy laughs. It sounds surprised, an unexpected burst of delight, and it makes Hermione smile, too.

“Sorry, that was -"

“No, it was just right,” Percy says. His laughter calms into a smile, and his eyes twinkle as he glances at her. “There's a lot of him.”

Steve returns with the pizza a little later, and it's very good. The cheese is very stretchy and although it's rather greasy overall, it's not unpleasantly so. 

“I think I'm going to go to bed,” Hermione says, glancing at the clock over the stove. “I know it's a bit early for it, but tomorrow's bound to be eventful.”

“You'll need a lot of energy to keep up with Pete and Shuri,” Steve says. “They're the youngest lab heads we've ever had, just a couple years out of Ilvermorny.”

“They're the heads?” Hermione asks. 

Steve shrugs those massive shoulders. “You get two kids that smart, you don't waste that talent.”

“I hope I can keep up. Good night.” She nods to them as she gets up, and goes down the hallway to her bedroom. Actually, maybe she'll have a shower first; it'll be nice to get the grime of air travel off of her.

Once the dishes are put away and the pizza boxes shoved into the trash can, Steve drops onto the couch and turns on the TV, though he's careful to keep the volume low. Percy joins him, and though the couch is huge, he still picks a spot quite near Steve. He unties his Converse, neatly lining them up by the couch, and stretches out his aching feet. 

They watch the news in companionable silence, hearing the soft pad of Hermione's feet in the background as she goes into the bathroom for her shower. 

Steve yawns and stretches, and just so happens to drop his arm across the back of the couch, right behind Percy's shoulders.

The redhead glances at him. “Really?”

Steve shrugs his other shoulder. “I'm old school.”

“You're _something_.”

Percy does take the hint though and scoots closer to the other man. Steve's arm slides down around his shoulders. They stay like that until they hear Hermione’s footsteps one more time and the _click_ of her door shutting.

“Perce?” Steve asks a little bit later. 

“Mm?” Percy looks at him, and Steve smirks, then leans in to close the distance between them. One hand slides into Percy's hair to keep him near, and their lips meet, softly at first, then Steve makes a soft, pleased sound at the back of his throat and presses forward more firmly.

“Wait.” Percy pulls back, one hand on Steve's chest. “What about Hermione?”

“What about her?”

“This doesn't look very professional.”

Steve smirks. “Good thing you're not working.”

He leans down again and this time Percy doesn't pull back. He rests his hand on the nape of Steve's neck, thumb brushing against the short hairs there. Steve sighs into the kiss and Percy takes advantage of it, his own lips parting and his tongue pressing against the other man's mouth which Steve eagerly accepts. 

By the time they pull apart for a few necessary breaths, Percy is straddling Steve's lap, and Steve's hands are tight on the other man's hips. 

“Let's get _this_ off,” Steve says, his hands sliding up and under Percy's sweater vest, peeling it off. Percy holds his arms up obligingly, then lowers them to attack the buttons on his Oxford. And then, under _that…_

“Jesus Christ, an undershirt too?” Steve laughs. “Anything else I should be worried about?”

“I get cold easily,” Percy defends himself. “Not all of us are giant, hot blocks of muscle.”

“Aw, you think I'm hot?” Steve replies. “You're gonna make me blush.”

Percy rolls his eyes and goes back in for another kiss. His hands work up Steve’s henley and they have to break apart for a moment to remove it. Once they’re both shirtless, Percy leans back, looking at Steve like he has to get that far away to take him all in - which may not be so far from the truth.

“Merlin,” he whispers before Steve pulls him down, intending to keep that smart mouth quiet for a while. 

Steve shifts his grip on Percy’s hips to pull them tighter together, arching his hips up to grind against the denim-covered hardness. Percy whines into the kiss, grinding against him in return, clutching the back of the couch so tightly his knuckles are white. 

Steve breaks the kiss for a moment, looking vaguely concerned. Percy makes a noise that absolutely isn’t another whine, leaning back in for another kiss. Steve shakes his head, then grabs for the other man again, pushing his tongue past Percy’s lips for another spirited round. 

Percy pulls back, panting, his blue eyes darkened with desire. “Steve,” he says, breathless, “are the rooms here still Silenced?”

“Um,” Steve says, needing a moment to get blood back into his brain, “yeah, why?”

“Because you need to fuck me, now, and I’d rather do so on a bed and where I won’t wake up Hermione.” He fumbles for his glasses, which had been set aside during a rather enthusiastic makeout, and puts them on. “So I suggest we go. Immediately.”

“Bossy,” Steve says, but he doesn’t object.

Percy clambers off Steve’s lap, grabbing his shirt and sweater vest before heading to Steve’s bedroom. He stops in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder.

“Coming?”  
  
“Gimme a minute,” Steve replies, openly admiring the view. Percy undoes his belt, and that gets the other man up immediately, following him in, and shutting the door behind them.

Steve points to the bed. “Get undressed. I want you on your hands and knees. You need a decent ‘welcome back.’” 

Percy undoes his jeans and pulls them and his boxers down in one movement, before getting onto the bed as Steve asked. He takes off his glasses and sets them onto the bedside table, then glances over his shoulder. Though the other man is little more than a blur right now, he’s a very nice-looking blur. 

Steve settles down between Percy’s legs, giving one ass cheek a gentle slap, then reaches out to spread his cheeks apart. The redhead gasps, fists already clenching against the bedspread, then takes in one sharp, needy breath as Steve’s tongue flickers out to slip inside of him. At first, it doesn’t go much further than the entrance, but then it starts pushing further inside with each stroke. 

Percy’s hands fist tighter, gasping shuddering breaths, body shaking with the effort of staying still so he doesn’t buck back against Steve’s mouth. Each stroke of Steve’s tongue sends a shock of heat through him, and he shifts to move a hand, relieve some of this pressure - 

“Put that hand back, Weasley,” Steve says, and he slaps Percy’s ass again, harder this time. Percy bucks forward, unable to stop himself, and he hears Steve huff a soft laugh. “Keep them where I can see them.”

“You could have seen them if I’d moved my hand,” Percy points out, though his voice is so ragged with want that any officiousness is utterly undermined.

“Keep them where they are, then,” Steve says. He shifts back and resumes his earlier actions - though damn him, he’s moving even more slowly now, really taking his time with it. It feels like he’s going to explore every single nook and crevice, and Percy thinks he’s going to actually lose his mind if he doesn’t do something else soon.

“Graves, for Merlin’s _sake_ -”

Steve pulls away, fumbles in his discarded jeans for his wand, and taps Percy’s hip with his wand. “ _Lubricio_.”

Already lubricated from Steve’s tongue, the incantation only stretches him, sending heat up his spine. He bucks his hips, and Steve grabs them hard, holding him still. For a moment, there’s just the tension, the waiting, and then Steve pushes into Percy, and Steve moans, loudly, while Percy gasps. 

“God, you feel _so_ fucking good,” Steve groans. His hands are tight on the other man’s hips, and he moves quickly, hard, too worked up to try for anything slower. Every thrust seems to push a gasp out of Percy, and he rocks back, aching for the friction and the heat. Words fall to the wayside, just Steve putting the Silencing charm to the test with his moans, getting louder and louder with each passing moment. His hands tighten, harder, harder, onto Percy’s hips. 

“Now, now, _now_!” Percy begs, half-sobbing, nails digging into his palms and leaving half-moons in the pale skin, fighting the urge to touch himself. It’s too much; the thickness and heat of Steve filling him up, the sweet ache from the too-tight hold on his hips, and if he can’t come _right now_ , he’s going to implode.

“Little bit longer,” Steve grunts. 

“Fuck you!” Percy spits. 

Steve leans down and bites Percy’s shoulder, hard. The redhead cries out hoarsely. 

“Just for that,” Steve growls, and then he slows, slows, slows, slows, sliding out and taking his sweet time to push back in again. Percy sucks in a shaking gasp of frustration and rage, grinding himself against Steve, desperate for every little bit of friction he can get. Steve finally pushes all the way back in, then out again, and then slams into him again, hard. “ _Now._ ”

Percy’s a goner. The instant he can move his hand, he wraps it around his own painfully erect cock, jerking himself off with sharp, needy movements. It isn’t long until he’s clenching around Steve, spilling onto the bed and crying out his release. Steve thrusts in a few more times, grabbing Percy so tightly he knows it will bruise, then lets out almost a roar as he comes as well. Finally, he slides out, collapsing onto the bed, breathing hard. Percy, ever the pragmatist, finds his wand and cleans the sheets and himself before falling onto the bed too.

“Merlin’s beard, I missed you,” he says, rolling his head to look at Steve. This close, even his terrible vision can clearly make out the sharp, chiseled lines of the other man’s face, the clear blue of his eyes. 

“Missed you too, Perce,” Steve says, and he presses their lips together in a soft kiss. He pulls back a little. “I think Hermione saw us.”

“Shit.” Percy exhales, imagining his reputation in tatters. “Why didn't you say anything sooner?”

“You were half-naked on my lap, begging me to fuck you. Would you have said anything?”

Percy scowls, and Steve grins. “We must have very different definitions of ‘begging.’ I seem to recall you called me bossy.”

“One man's bossy is another man's begging,” Steve replies, and before Percy can point out the flaw in his logic, Steve rolls over, curling his fingers through Percy's hair, and kisses him, so he's not in the mood to fuss.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione drops against the door of her (apparently Silenced) bedroom, heart beating so hard she's surprised it's not visible through the fabric of her tank top.

Merlin's beard, did she really just -

Closing her eyes doesn't help. That just splashes the image of Percy, shirtless, passionately kissing an equally (gloriously) shirtless Steve, the two of them clutching at each other like they're trying to merge together, across her mind's eye. It is not an unpleasant image by any means, but it is not one she expected to see.

That Percy is bisexual is not surprising. He’d mentioned as much before they’d gotten intimate, wanting her to be fully informed, and she’d seen him with boyfriends and girlfriends in their time as co-workers as well. For some reason, though, seeing him like that, with Graves, is - it’s - well -

It's hot, is what it is, if Hermione is being honest with herself. Steve's hands on Percy's hips, Percy's hands clutching the back of the couch like it had been the only thing anchoring him -

Hermione lets out a shaky breath. Ignoring the heat pooling low in her stomach is impossible, even if she’d like nothing more than to rip the memory out of her head so when she looks at Percy tomorrow morning, she won’t remember the sinuous curve of his spine as he rocked against Steve. 

She wonders if they had sex. Before she can stop it, her mind pictures Steve pushing Percy up against the door of his bedroom, hand reaching down and cupping Percy’s erection through his jeans. Is Steve a gentle lover, or is he rough? What she’d witnessed had seemed so intense, she imagines he has to be rough. She already knows how Percy can get - the fire in his eyes, how his voice drops... The memory sends another heated wave of arousal through her. Her nipples are already hard through her tank top, and she gives in, taking her breasts in hand and massaging them, thumbs flicking lightly over her nipples. She moans, soft, suddenly immensely glad she now knows the rooms are Silenced. If Percy and Steve _are_ having sex next door, she won’t hear them - and they won’t be able to hear the effect they’ve had on her.

Straightening up, Hermione stumbles over to the bed, dropping onto it. She pushes her tank top up over her breasts, and her nipples perk a little more, exposed to the air. Her fingers lightly brush against them, every movement making her squirm, hips shifting against the bed as though aching for an invisible lover. 

It isn’t long before she can’t resist any longer and plunges a hand down her pajama bottoms, rubbing over her panties, feeling how wet she is already. As she touches herself, her imagination - always eager to help - places Percy, kneeling in front of her. Like in the living room, he’s shirtless, flushed, but now those blue eyes are directed at her, and the lust and want in them makes her whimper. He pushes her legs apart and presses his mouth to her core, tongue flicking lightly at her clit before he moves in for the kill, mouth wide, wet, and hungry, tongue lapping eagerly at her.

Steve is there, too, to her surprise ( _really?_ the part of her that isn’t caught up in the fantasy thinks. _Both of them? Is this what I’m into?_ ) and he lowers his mouth to her breast with surprising gentleness and delicacy. His hand is so big it envelops her entire other breast, and she cries out, hips bucking, as she’s ministrated to. 

The rapid motions of Percy’s tongue and mouth mirror the increasing pace of Hermione’s fingers as they pump in and out, her other hand pinching and teasing her nipple. With two men so focused on her and her pleasure, Hermione can feel the heat and pressure building up in the lower part of her stomach. Her moans and cries grow louder and louder until she’s spasming around her fingers, then collapses bonelessly against the bed, staring unseeingly up at the ceiling.

_Merlin_ , she thinks, trying to catch her breath, _breakfast is going to be_ so _awkward tomorrow._

Breakfast is insanely awkward. 

“Good morning,” Hermione says to Steve as she enters the kitchen. Unsure of the dress code she's expected to adhere to, she's opted for black slacks and cardigan, a dark teal shell, and her favorite flats. She hopes it looks professional and not overdressed.

“Morning,” Steve says with a smile over that morning’s edition of _The New York Ghost_. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“What do we have?” Hermione asks. She glances at the table in hopes of getting an idea from Steve's dishes, but the only thing in front of him is a coffee mug that says “World’s Okayest Employee.” 

“Whatever you want,” Steve says. He nods to the refrigerator. “Take ahold of the handle, say what you want, and open the fridge. Just be sure you're specific about numbers, otherwise, it'll give you way too much.”

“Like the replicators in _Star Trek_?” Hermione asks, grinning.

Steve chuckles. “Kind of. Why don’t you try it out?”

Hermione goes over to the refrigerator and holds onto the door handle. “Three pancakes, two sausage patties, and Earl Grey with lemon.” She pauses. “Thank you?”

She opens the refrigerator door and sitting on the top shelf is a plate with three pancakes, two sausage patties, and a steaming mug that reads “I (HEART) NY.” There's even a little carafe of syrup. Smiling, she takes the food out of the refrigerator and calls another “thank you" into it before closing the door. 

“Where's Percy?” she asks, taking a seat and beginning to eat.

“Shower,” Steve says. He turns the page of his newspaper. 

Hermione wonders if they spent the whole night in the same room. Her cheeks flare up and she focuses on her food with an intensity normally reserved for studying.

Percy steps in a few minutes later, stopping at the refrigerator to request “coffee, black” before joining them at the table. 

“Good morning,” he says to Hermione. “Did you sleep well?”

Hermione can't quite look at him and focuses intently on her pancakes instead. “Fine, thank you. You?”

“Well enough.” 

Hermione glances up at Steve, who doesn't look up from his paper, but does smirk faintly as he turns the page. She glances at Percy, who has gone slightly pink. That's enough to make her blush, too.

Merlin's beard, she's not going to survive this.

“Hermione, we’ll be heading to MACUSA once you're ready,” Steve tells her. “Pete and Shuri are very excited to work with you.”

“Are there likely to be more mechanical spiders?” Hermione asks.

Steve grins. “With those two, there's no telling. I hope not.” He looks at Percy. “Perce, what are you going to do on your first day of vacation?”

“Be forced to remind you it's not a vacation, apparently,” Percy replies, taking a sip of his coffee. “I thought I'd go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I wanted to see it last time, but it didn't work out.”

“Still sounds a lot like a vacation to me,” Steve murmurs to Hermione. 

After breakfast, Percy bids Steve and Hermione goodbye, and they go downstairs to the attached garage. Steve gets Hermione's door for her, then goes around to get in the driver's side.

“Looking forward to your first day at MACUSA?” he asks her once they're driving out.

“Very much so,” Hermione says with hopefully a bit more confidence than she feels. “Mr. Clark and Ms. Atieno seem very nice, and I'm eager to help with translating the runes. It's a unique challenge.”

“Yeah, and hopefully we'll figure out who's behind this,” Steve says. “Three people in three weeks is a bad pattern.”

“Do we know anything about the other two?” Hermione asks, not sure if it's information she can have, but certainly not above asking for it.

“You'll be getting that from Shuri and Peter,” Steve replies. He shrugs. “They don't give me all the information.”

“It was worth a try,” Hermione says, and Steve chuckles. 

“Don't worry, you'll be getting more information about everything than you can handle once you're in the lab.”

Walking through the main MACUSA lobby is a little less overwhelming this time, although Hermione is sure she spots a few displays that weren't there yesterday. They take the lift up to the sixth floor, and Steve escorts her to Lab 5.

“All right, this is where I leave you,” he tells her. “I'll pick you up around one for lunch.” He smiles and gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, Steve.”

She knocks on the door to the lab before pushing it open. 

“You're back! You're really working with us!” Peter crows as a greeting. He beams at her. “This is going to be so great!”

“I hope I'll be able to help,” Hermione avers, feeling her cheeks flush at his effusiveness. “Where are the, um…”

“The bodies?” Shuri asks. She smiles at the look of discomfort that flashes across Hermione's face, but it's not unkind. “We keep them in the back. Come on.”

She leads Hermione into the back of the laboratory. Here, there are three tables with what appear to be faintly glowing mannequins on each one. All of them are covered in shapes that glow much more brightly, and Hermione realizes those must be the runes.

“This is the first victim,” Shuri says, gesturing for Hermione to follow her to the first table. As they get closer, the form resolves itself into a young man, who almost looks like he might be sleeping. “Vincent Yao. Ilvermorny, Horned Serpent, class of 1993. He worked in a bookshop off Times Square. A guy walking his dog found him in Central Park Tuesday two weeks ago.”

“Next was Nicolas Aigner,” says Peter, directing her to the second table. “Ilvermorny, Pukwudgie, class of 1996.” This one solidifies into a young man, only a little older than Hermione. “He worked here, actually, in No-Maj Relations.”

“He was nice,” adds Shuri sadly. 

“Same story as Yao - a jogger came across him last Thursday morning.”

They all go over to the final table, and though Hermione knows what to expect, it's still a punch to the gut as Demetrius Gray appears on the table. 

“And the reason you got involved,” says Shuri. “Demetrius Gray. Hogwarts, Hufflepuff, class of 1994. Worked in accounting for the Ministry of Magic. He was found Monday morning in Central Park by a groundskeeper.”

“The No-Maj press has been all over this,” Peter tells her. “The first one could be written off. Second time, maybe a copycat killer. Third time…”

“The third time is a pattern,” Shuri finishes. “And one we don't want the No-Majs getting too involved in. We're hoping that by having you translate the runes, we can figure out who's behind this.”

“I'll do everything I can to help,” Hermione says. She pulls the New York guidebook out of her bag and goes back to the first table, with Vincent Yao. “Do either of you have a pen?”

“Here's your change. Enjoy your day at the museum, sir.”

“Thank you.” Glad of his previous experience with American Muggle money, Percy clips the little admission pin to the collar of his sweater vest, then steps out of the way of the main doors to put the bills and coins away. He's gotten into the habit of using a billfold, but a money bag is just so much more convenient.

Picking up a map from the table near the entrance, he decides on his first destination. At ten o'clock on a Wednesday, the museum is fairly quiet, and his footsteps echo on the marble floors. He wishes Hermione or Steve could have accompanied him. Of course he understands why they couldn't, but the company would have been nice. 

Even though he knows it's not the kind of relationship they have, or the kind they're likely to ever have, he thinks of walking through these corridors of Greek and Roman statues with Steve at his side, hand spanning the small of his back. 

He shakes the notion away. A transatlantic relationship is a terrible idea. They have an understanding, and that's all. 

Percy still remembers the night they'd arrived at that understanding. It had only been a week or so after the Battle of Hogwarts, just enough time for grieving families to bury their dead, and then the Minister and some of his support staff had been off to America to meet with MACUSA and reestablish the ties that You-Know-Who had severed. Percy had been reeling from his brother's death, his nerves rubbed raw, wracked with nightmares and grief. 

The night they arrived in America, jet lag gave him his first night of uninterrupted sleep since Fred died. The second night, though it followed a long day of meetings and negotiations, had not been so restful. His sleep had been plagued by nightmares of stone dust and green jets of light before he'd startled awake, throat raw from screaming, eyes wet and swollen. 

Steve caught him on his way out. Percy, already on edge and frightened by the unexpected interruption, pulled his wand on him. 

“Hey, hey,” Steve said, tone gentle, like he was soothing a spooked horse. “It's just me. It's okay.” He took in the white-knuckled grip on the wand, Percy's tear-stained face and disheveled appearance, the cigarette carton crushed in his other fist. “Nightmares?”

Steve accompanied him out onto the balcony and watched Percy chain smoke until his hands stopped shaking. Heedless of the taste of cigarette smoke or morning breath, they'd ended up kissing, and that was the night that Percy discovered his nightmares weren't a problem if he got fucked senseless.

Although he is nearly alone in the gallery and perfectly alone in his thoughts, he still feels his cheeks warm. Studiously ignoring it, he consults his map and wanders deeper into the museum.


	6. Chapter 6

MACUSA treats its guests well, Hermione decides, because it runs them into the ground. Although her day consisted of little more than sitting in front of the model of Vincent Yao, painstakingly translating one rune at a time, she feels like she ran a mental marathon. 

“Sit,” Steve instructs, gesturing to the couch. “Are you hungry? Something to tide you over until dinner?”

“No, thank you,” Hermione replies, settling on the couch. It's very comfortable, and she immediately regrets sitting down because she doesn't know if she'll ever get back up. “I'll be fine.”

“I think you'll fall asleep if we don't eat soon, though,” Steve observes, and he grins at her. “Let's say six, or whenever Percy gets back.”

Hermione nods, and Steve joins her on the couch. “Mind if I turn on the TV?”

“No, that's fine.” He flicks his wand at the TV, and Hermione watches but doesn't really pay attention to what is on the screen.

“Wait,” she says a moment or two later. “How does a television work here? This is a magical residence; surely the magic causes the Muggle technology to malfunction?”

“It's been modified,” Steve replies. “I couldn't tell you the whys or hows, but there's a guy in the Bronx who fixes No-Maj stuff like TVs, cell phones, or laptops, so we can use them. Pete or Shuri could get more into it if you're interested.”

“I'm sure they could,” Hermione says, and Steve chuckles. “Smartest kids in MACUSA, I told you. Glad they're on our side.”

About half an hour later, there's a buzzing noise. Hermione, half-asleep, startles awake, fumbling for her wand. Steve holds out a hand to indicate _stay where you are_ and gets to his feet, hand on his wand. 

The door opens, and Percy steps through, his wand drawn as well. He takes in a clearly sleep-addled Hermione and Steve on his guard, then lowers his wand.

“Good evening.”

“Evening.” Steve lowers his wand as well. “Everything okay? You came in on the offensive.”

“It never hurts to act with an abundance of caution,” Percy replies. A moment of tension crackles between them, and Hermione realizes with sudden clarity that if she weren't in the room, Steve probably would have kissed Percy. She wonders if he would have pushed Percy up against the wall, if Percy would have pressed his hand deep into Steve's hair, if his knuckles would have gone white as they had been on the couch -

She blushes and looks away, watching the TV without really seeing it. Hearing footsteps behind her, she looks back and sees Percy move past Steve, over to her.

“You look exhausted,” he says, giving her shoulder a light squeeze. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Hermione replies. “Translating is very slow going. The runes are very … dense.” Thickly carved on someone's skin. Translating the runes on a model has given her a degree of separation from the human life lost, but sometimes it still hits her like a kick to the stomach. 

“Have you eaten yet?”

“No, we were waiting for you.” 

“Let me get my jacket off and we'll eat right away, then. I didn't mean to delay you when you've had such a long day.”

They get their food and take their seats around the table, and for a moment, there is only the sound of eating. Hermione is hungrier than she'd realized - lunch was longer ago than expected. 

“So what'd you do today, Perce?” Steve asks. Percy finishes his bite of stew and carefully dabs at his mouth with a napkin before answering,

“I spent most of the day at the Met, then I had a look around Times Square,” Percy replies. “It's very …”

“Obnoxious?” Steve asks with a grin.

“I was going to say _busy_ , but yes, I suppose _obnoxious_ is not inaccurate.”

“What is it like?” Hermione asks. “I've never been in person.”

“It's quite a lot,” Percy answers after a moment of thought. “Like Piccadilly Circus, but it felt like there were a lot more people in a much smaller space.”

“I see,” Hermione says. “I think I'm all right not seeing it, actually.”

Steve chuckles. “There's better stuff to do in the city besides go to Times Square, anyway. I'm sure Percy will be able to tell you all about it after his vacation.”

“It's still not a vacation,” Percy points out, pointing his spoon at Steve. “No matter how many times you insist on calling it one. And I had a very nice time, since you asked.”

They finish dinner, and Hermione, barely able to keep from yawning, excuses herself to go to bed. Part of her is intensely curious if Percy and Steve will hook up again, and she half-wishes she had an Extendable Ear to listen in. 

After she changes, she steps out to brush her teeth and, unable to help herself, glances into the main room. Steve is on the couch, watching TV, and Percy is sitting a perfectly respectable distance from him, reading. She steps into the bathroom and turns on the faucet, leaving the door cracked.

“Perce?”

“Mm?”

“ _Are_ you okay? You know you're safe here. No need to come in, wands blazing.”

“I'm fine.” A pause, and over the sound of her toothbrush echoing inside of her head, Hermione hears the soft sound of Percy closing his book. “I suppose being on my own in a strange city is making me a bit anxious. I know London; I know where I can Apparate and whom I can go to if something happens. Here - well, you and MACUSA are it.”

“Want me to see if Nat's available to hang out? She'd be happy to accompany you; she likes you.”

Percy laughs, soft. “No, thank you. I'll manage.” Hermione finishes brushing her teeth and steps back into the hallway, padding back to her room. The two men go silent, and she closes her door behind her. She shakes her head. What had she been expecting? Time for bed, Granger.

People fall into patterns and routines easily, even under extraordinary circumstances. In the mornings, Hermione, Percy, and Steve eat breakfast together and Steve teases Percy about his itinerary for the day. Steve accompanies Hermione to MACUSA, drops her off in Lab 5, and she spends the day hunched over the models, translating a seemingly endless string of runes. Finally, dinner back at the flat, then bed.

It's around Vincent Yao’s left shin on day five that something starts to click. 

Leaning in for a closer look, Hermione frowns, peering at her notebook, then the runes, and back to the notebook. Struck with an idea, she pushes back her chair and hurries over to the model of Nicolas Aigner, starting at the shoulder and working her way back down, muttering to herself. They match. The runes carved onto Yao’s shin match the chain of runes on Aigner’s. 

“Hermione?” Peter asks, watching her.

“Hold on -” Hermione replies, not wanting to break her concentration. She goes over to the last model and isn't surprised when she finds, once again, the same runes in roughly the same place. 

A very, very familiar chain of runes, one she hoped, prayed, she would never see again. Her heart pounds in her chest, so hard she feels a little dizzy. 

“Is everything okay?” Shuri asks. She hasn't missed the panicky head of steam that Hermione seems to be working up into.

“Shuri, is there a library here? In MACUSA, or in the city, that has magical texts?” Hermione swallows. “Specifically ones dealing with dark magic?”

“There's one not far from here,” Shuri replies. “It's under Tweed Courthouse. How dark are you talking?”

“If I'm right, and I hope I'm not, then the darkest kind,” Hermione replies. “Can we go there now?”

“Yeah, let's get Graves,” Peter says. 

The four of them Apparate out of MACUSA to a small niche across the street from Tweed Courthouse. Peter glances out to make sure the coast is clear, then gestures for the others to follow.

Though Steve stands out in any crowd, they blend in well enough with the flood of humanity rushing in and out of Tweed Courthouse. Peter unerringly leads them to a small door just off the main atrium. He gestures for them to get in close, then casually leans against the wall and whispers,

“Peter Clark, Head of Magical Information Technology. Three others.”

A soft buzz sounds and Peter vanishes through the wall. Shuri, Hermione, and Steve come in after him, and the grand sweeping halls of the courthouse vanish, replaced with the dark-paneled walls of a huge library with levels and levels of books. 

Normally, Hermione would have been delighted to find herself in such a temple to learning (Part of her, it must be admitted, was looking at everything in awe and hoping she had a chance to come back - there were _so many_ books). Now, however, trembling with anxiety, she wonders where in the world they might start.

Shuri looks around, then taps the bell on the front desk. Almost instantly, a man appears from thin air. Tall and thin, with salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard, he is, somehow, exactly who Hermione would picture running a magical library.

“Mr. Clark,” he greets Peter. His eyes light on Hermione, and his eyebrows lift slightly. “And, if I'm not mistaken, Hermione Granger.”

“You're not,” says Peter. “Hermione is working with us on a project. Hermione, what book did you need?”

“It's a long shot,” Hermione says, “but _Secrets of the Darkest Arts_.”

The librarian's eyebrows lift slightly, not in judgment, just in curiosity. “Of course.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring of old-fashioned skeleton keys, carefully sorting through them until he finds the one he's looking for. He holds it out to them. 

Hermione looks at the key, not sure what the next step is. She glances at the librarian, then starts a little as Steve puts a hand on her shoulder and reaches past her to put a finger on the key. Peter and Shuri do the same, and Hermione understands. Of course, it's a set of Portkeys. She puts a finger on the key as well and takes a moment to appreciate the fact that they decided to enchant actual keys as Portkeys, then there's a feeling of a hook just behind her navel and it _pulls_ -

They land, hard, in another part of the library. Hermione almost falls, but Steve steadies her. His hand spans almost the entire width of her back, and she's not quite sure what to do with the rush of heat that goes right to her cheeks. 

“ _Secrets of the Darkest Arts_ ,” the librarian announces. He sweeps over to a shelf and pulls it off with unerring accuracy, then brings it over to them. 

Hermione takes it with a sinking sensation of unease and distaste. Merlin, she thought she'd never have to see this awful book again. Even just holding it in her hands is bringing back memories of screams and darkness, cold pale hands against grey stone, blood splashing on her face, the thick copper taste in her mouth -

She forces herself past the thoughts. A glance at her companions quickly tells her that her little lapse didn't go unnoticed. Peter and Shuri are steadfastly looking everywhere except at her, the librarian is examining his nails, and Steve's hand returns to its comforting perch on her shoulder. 

Hermione flips the book open. She still remembers exactly what she's looking for. The years haven't dulled the memory of how the pages felt in her hands, how many were in her right hand, and how many were in her left. 

Her eyes skim the page, and when she finds it, she sets the book down on a nearby table.

“Here,” she says, pointing to a sequence of runes - the same one she had found on poor Vincent Yao's leg. She looks up, meeting Peter and Shuri's worried gazes. “It's the same pattern of runes I saw on the victims. Whoever is doing this is.” Her voice falters for a moment. “...is making Horcruxes.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Percy? Weasley? Is that you?”

Even though it's just past four-thirty, the sun is already near the horizon, and the shadows stretch long along the sidewalk as Percy turns.

“Beatrice,” he says, smiling as he recognizes his former schoolmate. “I didn't know you were in New York.” Not that he was alone in that. From what he understood, no one had really heard from Beatrice Ingraham since graduation, nearly seven years ago. “On holiday?”

“No, I live here. I moved right after graduation. Are you still in England?”

“Yes, I've been living in London for a while now. I thought I'd come to see New York; I've only ever been on business.”

Beatrice smiles. She was always pretty, but now she is so lovely, it almost hurts to look at her. “I hope you've been having a wonderful time. Are you going somewhere now?”

“I was headed to the Strand. Would you care to join me?”

“I wish I could, but I have a prior engagement tonight. Listen, though -” She touches his arm. “If you're free tomorrow night, there's a lovely bar uptown I'd love to show you. It's got a bit of a speakeasy vibe - you have to give the bartender a password, use your wand to get in. Would you like to go?”

“I'd love to.” He smiles back at her, then reaches into his inside jacket pocket to pull out a dog-eared guide to New York City, a little worse for wear from use, and flips to the blank pages in the back. He then produces a pen and holds them out to Beatrice. “If you wouldn't mind?”

“Thanks.” She hesitates a moment before taking the proffered objects, then writes the address and password down, followed by a number. Handing it back, she adds, “Does seven work?”

“Seven is fine. I look forward to seeing you.”

“You too. See you tomorrow.” She waves and, within a moment, is swallowed by the crowd. Percy checks the address on the blank page, then tucks it into his jacket pocket again. He pulls a box of cigarettes from the same pocket, shakes one out, and lights it. His hand, as he tucks his lighter away, is trembling slightly. Taking a deep inhale off the cigarette, he lets the stream of humanity pull him down to the Strand.

When he arrives back at the flat on the Lower East Side around six, his hand goes, without conscious thought, to his wand. Of course, he knows he's safe here, that Steve is more than equal to any threat that might try to come for them, but some habits are hard to break. His own flat is heavily warded and protected, but he still goes in wand-first. 

Percy taps his badge at the door; there is a click of the lock, then a soft buzzing to announce his arrival. He pushes the door open and is nearly bowled over by Hermione, who throws her arms around his neck, clutching herself to him. After a moment of shock, he wraps his arms around her in return, not sure what caused this show of affection.

“Good evening,” he says, then looks up at Steve, who's watching them with a combination of amusement and fondness (and although he knows there's no relationship to be jealous of, he hopes he sees maybe a tiny bit of that too). “Is everything all right?”

“I was so worried,” Hermione says into his shoulder, voice muffled by the wool of his overcoat. She pulls back, a little, just far enough to see him but not so far to be out of his arms. “Percy, this person, the murderer - they're making _Horcruxes._ ”

“What?!” The word hits him like a lightning strike. His arms tighten around Hermione instinctively. Of course, he knows that she's had a much more intimate experience with them than he has, and if it's giving him flashbacks to those long months, it has to be a hundred times worse for her. “You're sure?”

It's a stupid question; of _course_ she's sure, she wouldn't have said it if she wasn't. But he has to be sure, too.

Hermione presses herself back against him and nods, her head moving against his shoulder. “I recognized - I recognized the marks on the bodies.”

“Merlin's beard.” 

“I know it's silly, but I was scared for you,” Hermione continues, her voice muffled. “We don't know anything about this person, or why they're doing this or what it's in service of, and I thought about you out there in the city, and logically I know, _I know_ , but something so evil and so brazen about it…”

“I'm okay,” he says, giving her a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for your concern.” Percy looks up at Steve. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Not yet,” Steve answers. “We were waiting for you. Are you hungry?”

“Hungry enough.” 

Hermione pulls back, and she looks a bit sheepish after her outburst. “I'm glad you're home.” 

“So am I,” says Steve, and the smile he gives Percy makes his heart skip a beat. 

After dinner, the three of them settle on the couch, Steve and Percy watching the news, and Hermione flipping through her guidebook. 

“What are you reading?” Percy asks. 

“My notes,” Hermione replies. “I know I ought to leave my work at the office, but I feel like if I read them one more time, maybe I can figure out who's behind it.”

“Light reading before bedtime,” Steve remarks sardonically. “That would give me nightmares.”

A few hours later, Percy checks his watch. “I think I'm going to head to bed,” he says. “Good night, Hermione. Steve.” 

“What time is it?” Hermione asks. She checks her own watch. “I ought to as well. It's going to be hectic tomorrow.”

Percy catches Steve's eye and lifts his eyebrows slightly. Steve looks immensely pleased and says, “‘Night, Perce.”

Percy stops into the bathroom to brush his teeth, then steps into his bedroom. He and Steve had decided that discretion was the best way to pursue their - whatever this was, but it does mean that they had to wait for Hermione to go to bed before Steve could join him. 

He changes into his pajamas - a black t-shirt and red and gold pajama pants - and picks up his New York guidebook. He turns to the notes in the back and taps the four corners with his wand, then sits at the desk and makes some quick notes of his own. Tapping the four corners in the opposite order, he closes the book and glances up at the knock on the door. 

He almost calls “come in,” then remembers that the room is Silenced, which will be great in about five minutes, but is mildly inconvenient at the moment. 

Percy gets up and opens the door. “Hello.”

Steve looks him up and down, a grin slowly curling its way across his face. “Hey.”

Without another word, Percy reaches out and curls his fingers in the collar of Steve’s henley, pulling him in for a kiss. Steve steps fully inside the room and pushes the door shut behind him. Taking advantage of the flat surface behind him, he leans against the door and pulls Percy with him. The redhead pushes himself tightly against the other man, tongue insinuating itself into Steve’s mouth. Steve groans softly into the kiss, hands moving to Percy’s hips, clutching them tightly. 

As he pulls back, Percy catches Steve’s lower lip between his teeth, tugging it gently.

“City still got you on edge?” Steve asks softly. 

“Horcruxes put my nerves on edge,” Percy admits, his eyes shifting from Steve’s earnest blue gaze for a moment. “I’d rather be proactive about any nightmares that might have been triggered.”

“Oh, I see, I’m just a prop to help you sleep well,” Steve teases. 

“Like you don't get anything out of it,” Percy shoots back. 

“I can’t argue with that,” Steve agrees. Before he can add anything else, Percy leans in and kisses him again. Steve lets out a soft, pleased noise, using his grip on Percy’s hips to keep him close. Their tongues meet and twist together, and Steve’s own hips shift in answer to the heat building low in his stomach, rubbing himself lightly against the redhead. Percy returns the gesture, not quite as gentle, a more pointed and eager movement. His hand slips down between them, finding the bulge in Steve’s jeans and cupping it, fingers fitting against the length as he starts to stroke. Steve groans, breaking the kiss, his head hitting against the door. He opens his eyes enough to look at the other man, and the blue fire in Percy’s eyes sends a frisson down his spine. 

“What are you plotting?” he asks, softly.

“Plotting implies something you _won’t_ like,” the redhead replies. His fingers move up, deftly undoing the button and zip of Steve’s jeans. “Have a seat, Mr. Graves.” He gestures to the desk chair. 

“Yes, sir,” Steve almost purrs, and he doesn’t miss the blush that creeps across Percy’s nose. He pushes down his jeans and boxers in one movement, stepping out of them and dropping into the chair. It creaks a little under his weight, and he looks up at Percy.

The redhead licks his lips, then moves to kneel in front of Steve, pressing a kiss to the skin just above his knee. Slowly, he moves his way up the other man’s thighs, kissing and occasionally nipping. By the time he reaches the apex, Steve is fully erect and panting slightly. Percy meets his gaze and, without breaking eye contact, sinks his mouth onto Steve’s cock.

“Oh _shit_ -”

That wickedly talented tongue moves over the sensitive skin, and Percy bobs up and down, swallowing every so often. Steve groans, loud, fingers moving to twist into Percy's thick red curls. Percy hums in pleasure, then pulls back enough to wrap a hand around the base of Steve’s cock, starting to pump in concert with the movement of his mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Perce, your mouth,” Steve moans. “Oughta be illegal.”

Percy chuckles around his mouthful, which makes Steve wrack in the desk chair, one hand moving from Percy's hair to the arm of the chair, clutching it with a white-knuckle grip.

“Perhaps,” Percy says, sliding off, “you ought to arrest me. Haven't you got handcuffs?” He smirks.

“Don’t think I haven’t thought about it,” Steve says. “Handcuffing you to my bed and fucking you until you can’t walk. Not letting you come until I say you can. Getting those wrists of yours all bruised up.”

Percy’s breath hitches, and he presses his own hand between his legs for a moment, grinding himself against the friction.

“You gonna save some of that for me?” Steve asks. 

“You’ll promise that you’ll bring those handcuffs home sometime?” Percy challenges, giving the base of Steve’s cock a squeeze.

Steve smiles, a little feral. “I’ll bring the whole goddamn armory if you want.”

Without another word, Percy gets to his feet and shucks off his t-shirt and pajama bottoms then straddles Steve’s lap. It’s not comfortable by any stretch of the imagination, but between the options of being fucked _now_ when he’s so hard it almost hurts, and waiting the whole minute and a half it would take to get to the bed, he’ll take the quicker option.

Anyway, there’s all night to get to the bed.

Steve immediately grabs his ass and pulls him close, their cocks brushing together. Percy gasps and Steve lets out a groan, grinding again, harder.

“I want to be inside of you,” Steve mutters, his breath hot against Percy’s cheek. 

“What are you waiting for?”

“Wand?”

Barely pulling away, Percy reaches out for his wand and twists to place it against his lower back. “ _Lubricio_.” Once again, the spell stretches and lubricates him in a moment, and he rocks against Steve with a stifled whine. 

Steve moves his hands to carefully cage Percy’s waist as the redhead sets the wand back down, then shifts in Steve’s lap to align himself with Steve’s erection. With Steve steadying him, he lowers himself onto the other man.

Although Percy has never been vocal in bed, it feels like the thickness of Steve’s cock is pushing noises out of him despite himself. Little gasps and whines slide out, and when he’s fully seated, Steve moans aloud, hands tightening on Percy’s waist. 

Luckily, there is an easy solution, just in reach, to stifle those embarrassing noises. Percy leans forward to press his mouth to Steve’s. The other man’s kisses are hard and hungry, tongues twisting together in a frenzy.

Under their combined weight and movements, the chair lets out a few alarming creaks, but neither of them is in a position to pay it much mind.

“Shit,” Steve pants against Percy’s cheek, having broken the kiss to catch his breath. “Perce, you feel so fucking good, I’m gonna -”

His hands tighten convulsively on Percy’s waist and he nearly shouts with his orgasm. 

“Fuck,” Percy hisses, and he grinds himself harder against Steve, a hand slipping between them to take hold of himself. This time, Steve doesn’t tell him to stop. 

His movements become erratic, losing technique in the heat of the moment, and he surges forward, kissing Steve hard to stifle the sounds of his own climax.

For a moment, they rest together, forehead to forehead, trying to calm their breathing. Percy inhales like he’s about to speak, then lets out the breath without sound and reaches for his wand to clean up, instead.

“Perce?” Steve’s voice is slow and warm in the afterglow, but it doesn’t soften the crinkle of concern across his forehead.

“Nothing.” He brushes his thumb across the other man’s cheek. “Shall we move this to the bed?”

“I’m honestly surprised the chair held out. Bed’s preferable.”

They disentangle, and as they walk to the bed, Percy catches Steve's hand. The other man turns, eyebrows raised slightly. 

“Just - thanks.”

“For?” Steve asks.

“For …" He doesn't know how to encompass all the things he wants to thank Steve for - being his friend and sometimes lover, the care he's taking of Hermione, the effortless competence with which he lives his life - so he settles for, "Everything. I appreciate it.”

Steve smiles a little and gives Percy's hand a squeeze. “My pleasure. Come on.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Good morning, Steve,” Hermione says. She stops by the refrigerator. “Two sausage links, a blueberry scone, and English Breakfast with cream and sugar, please.”

“Morning, Hermione,” Steve says. He glances up from his newspaper as she comes over to the table with her plate and steaming mug. “How are you feeling? Sleep okay last night?”

“Adequately. I'm a bit shaken up about this.” She pauses, absently stirs her tea. “You think that you might only run into magic this Dark once, so to come across it again, to know what Voldemort did - it's shocking.”

Steve sets down his newspaper. “Why do you say his name?”

“Sorry?”

“That name. Voldemort. Percy doesn't say it. I remember when they came here right after the war, Minister Shacklebolt said it and the whole Ministry delegation flinched. I thought Percy was going to faint. He always just calls him You-Know-Who or He Who Must Not Be Named.”

“I'm from a Muggle family, so I didn't grow up with the fear of the name that a lot of people in the wizarding world did,” Hermione says. “But our headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, said that fear of the name increases fear of the thing itself. Of course I was scared, but I wasn't going to let myself be bullied as well.”

“That's brave of you,” Steve says, admiring. 

Hermione smiles. “It's much easier to be brave on this side of the war.”

“Good morning,” Percy says, stepping into the kitchen. Hermione glances at Steve and watches the way he follows Percy with his eyes. It makes her heart contract a little, wondering if Ron ever watched her like that. Percy goes to the refrigerator and, once he's received his “coffee, black,” comes to the table. 

“Plans for today?” Steve asks. 

Percy shakes his head. “None. I wanted to spend today in. I might go out later, but.” He shrugs. “How about you? Now that you know what you're looking for…?”

“We're going to figure out where the Horcruxes are being stored,” Steve says, with a look to Hermione. “Which reminds me, I got a message from the head Auror this morning. He wants you to talk to the Aurors about how to destroy the Horcruxes.”

Hermione freezes. “Sorry?”

“I know, I hate to spring it on you like this. But you're the only person with practical experience, and Director Hawk wants you to go over it with us while we have you here.” He grimaces. “Sorry.”

“How much time do I have to prepare?” 

Steve checks his watch. “You've got the ride over.”

“Oh my God.” Hermione pushes her chair back, leaving her half-eaten breakfast on the table, and hurries out of the room. 

“That went about as well as I thought it would,” Steve says.

“Considering you're giving her no time to prepare, I'm surprised you still have a head.”

Steve gives her as much time as he can at the apartment, waiting until the absolute last second before he calls for her.

"Hermione, we gotta go now, we're gonna be late!" 

"NO!" Hermione shrieks in response, and there's a massive crash from her bedroom. "MERLIN'S PANTS!"

Steve hurries into the bedroom to check on her and stops short at the destruction before him. Hermione's bag is open and in absolute disarray, clothes tossed everywhere. Books are spilled across the floor, which explains the crash.

"Can I help?" he asks.

Hermione, elbow deep in her luggage, pulls a hand out to wave at her tote bag. "Books in bag!"

Steve obeys and realizes she must have an Extension Charm on the bag, because all of the thick books are vanishing easily into it, and it doesn't feel any heavier. 

He checks his watch. " _Now_ , Hermione."

Hermione lets out a noise of frustration that isn't quite human and grabs the bag from his hands, hurrying past him and to the front door.

In the car, Hermione has a pile of books on her lap and she's furiously scribbling in a notebook. She mutters under her breath, checking one book, then flips to another one.

“There's that many books on Horcruxes?” Steve asks, glancing at her as they wait at a red light.

“Hm? Oh, no, of course not. This one -” she taps one of the spines - “is the only one on Horcruxes. The others are just reference books. I thought they might have useful information."

"Did you bring all of those with you?"

"You never know when they might come in handy." She rakes her hand through her hair. "Now hush, I need to finish this.”

“Yes, ma'am.” 

At MACUSA headquarters, Hermione slips out of the car and reaches for the loose books, but Steve picks them up for her. 

“You write. I'll be the muscle.”

“Thanks.” 

They head into the main hall, and Natasha catches up with them as they reach the elevator. 

“Homework?” she asks, nodding to the pile of books.

“Research,” Steve replies. 

“This have to do with Hawk's lecture later this morning?”

“That's it. The guest of honor is still working on her acceptance speech.” 

“Great. Glad to know Hawk gives his guests the same amount of prep time and notice he gives us.”

Hermione holds a hand out. “ _Magical Venoms and Antidotes_.”

Steve turns the books to check the titles along the spines, then digs out the right one and places it in Hermione's waiting hand. She hands him back her current book, then mutters something under her breath so the new book floats in front of her, keeping up with their pace. They turn into Laboratory 5 and Hermione parks at a table, continuing to revise and write feverishly. 

Hawk gives them more time than expected: it's almost a full thirty minutes before an origami rat squeezes its way inside and scampers up Steve's leg, his side, then onto his shoulder. He grimaces and plucks the rat off, unfolding it. 

“Hermione, we gotta go,” he says.

“I'm not done yet!” Hermione replies, looking up with wild eyes. “I've barely gotten into the history of goblin-made weaponry!”

“I promise you Hawk won't notice it's missing,” Natasha says. “But he will if we are. Let's get going.”

Hermione looks pleadingly to Steve, as though expecting a reprieve from him, but he shrugs. 

“I'll bring the books,” he offers.

Hermione uses the walk down to MACUSA's main lecture theater to continue writing, though she doesn't look any more satisfied when they step through. 

She glances up from her notebook and her eyes widen as she takes in the room. As far as lecture theaters go, it's fairly run-of-the-mill: large, with white walls and long tables arranged in tiered rows around the lowest point, where a podium stands, waiting. Also waiting are the best and brightest of MACUSA's law enforcement team. They stand in small groups, talking amongst themselves, and to the last, they are well-built and extremely attractive. 

Working with Aurors is nothing new. _Harry_ is an Auror, for Heaven's sake. She's hardly intimidated by the position or authority they hold within MACUSA. The part of her that is still eleven and gawky with oversize front teeth and uncontrollable curls, however, is terrified at the thought of speaking in front of so many beautiful people. What if they think she's wrong or dumb? What if they laugh?

“Imagine them all naked.” Steve's breath is warm by her ear, and his hand is a comforting weight between her shoulders. “If you're nervous about speaking in front of them. That always helps me.”

Despite herself, Hermione laughs. “I think that might make me _more_ uncomfortable. Your co-workers are all very…”

Steve chuckles as well. “We joke that Hawk hires as much for hotness as defensive and offensive magic skills.” He pauses. “That go for me, too?”

Hermione's cheeks go hot. 

“Oh, stop fishing for compliments, Graves,” Natasha says. “Hawk's gonna be here soon, let's go sit.”

Hermione turns to look at Steve, hoping against hope for a last-minute pardon, but he just gives her a hug. 

“You'll be great,” he promises. “I'm not going far. Front row.”

True to his word, he and Natasha take seats in the first row, leaving Hermione alone at the front of the room. She glances at the podium, wondering if she's supposed to just start talking, or is someone introducing her, or…?

The door bursts open, and all conversation hushes as though someone cast a Silencing charm over the room. Hermione can immediately understand why.

Head Auror Nicholas Hawk is a tall, imposing man. While most of the Aurors dress in Muggle clothes, like Steve's jeans and henley or Natasha's dress and cardigan, Hawk has opted for a long black leather robe that streams behind him like a cape, and one of his eyes is covered with an eyepatch. The overall effect is somewhat terrifying.

“Sit down!” 

Hawk covers the ground to the podium in a few long strides. He turns to her, and Hermione freezes.

“Miss Granger,” he says, polite. “It is an honor to finally meet you. Sorry I didn't give you more time to prepare, but this is a matter of utmost urgency.” 

Before she can respond, Hawk goes to the podium, looking out over the assembled Aurors.

“Something is rotten in the state of New York,” he says. “You’ve probably heard rumors - whispers - idle gossip at the water cooler. We are Aurors. We work with facts. I have here one of the very few people on this planet who can give us the facts we need.” He holds out a hand. “Hermione Granger.”

Her name inspires a soft storm of whispers and movement, people craning their necks to get a better look at her. Hermione’s stomach feels sour. What would they do if she just ran out right now? 

“Miss Granger, the floor is yours.” Hawk steps away from the podium and Hermione swallows. Her hands, which are clutching her notes, shake slightly. With feet that feel heavy, she steps up to the podium and sets her notes down deliberately, to make sure her sweaty palms don’t smudge the ink.

“I’m sure you’ve heard that someone in New York is creating Horcruxes.” Her voice barely trembles, and it even sounds firm, authoritative. “It is true. A lot of you may not know what Horcruxes are, or why you should care. A Horcrux is dark, dark magic - a piece of soul trapped in an object. By hiding a piece of their soul in an object, the creator guarantees their own immortality. They can never truly die as long as their Horcruxes survive.” 

By the time the question-and-answer session ends, Hermione's throat hurts and her feet ache from standing for nearly four hours. The Aurors all seem to be taking the threat very seriously, though, and they ask the right questions. They may not know who's doing this yet, but at least she can be sure that when they do locate the Horcruxes, the MACUSA team will know what to do. 

Steve is immediately on his feet as it wraps up, going to Hermione.

“How do you feel? Need anything?”

“I would love a cup of tea,” Hermione says, and Steve smiles. 

“I think you've earned it. Let's take an early lunch today. Nat?”

“Prior commitment,” Natasha replies. “Maybe next time.”


	9. Chapter 9

The rest of the day is relatively quiet, although Aurors keep poking their heads into Lab 5 (much to Peter's delight and Shuri's irritation) to pepper Hermione with questions about Horcruxes and if the Ministry has a cache of Basilisk fangs just in case.

When five o'clock rolls around, Steve chases off the Auror hanging around by the door with a firm admonition. “She's off the clock, leave it till tomorrow!”

“He could have asked his question,” Hermione says, although there's not a lot of fight in her words. It's been a long day.

Steve snorts. “Tony'd keep you here until tomorrow morning. May as well wait. Let's go.”

Hermione trails him out of MACUSA, drawing her coat tightly around her on the short walk to the parking garage. Night comes earlier and earlier, and it's getting colder with each passing day.

The drive home is quiet. Hermione watches the city go past in a blur of people and Christmas lights.

“Steve?” she asks.

“Hm?”

“Why do you drive in every day? Isn't Apparating faster?”

“Actually, I'm just driving for you,” Steve says. He flashes her a grin. “I usually take the subway. L to the 4.”

“You don't Apparate at all?”

“No, I do, I just prefer not to. I hate that feeling of being squeezed. Magical transportation is faster but it's uncomfortable. Would you rather spend ten minutes in this -” he pats the armrest between them - “or thirty seconds being squeezed through a tube?”

Hermione smiles. “I suppose that's a fair point. Especially after such a long day.”

“Exactly. Good way to unwind. How about Chinese for dinner? There's a place that makes the best sweet and sour chicken.”

The flat is quiet when they get back, and Hermione excuses herself to get changed. She shrugs out of her cardigan and turns to drop it in her bag when she spots something on the pillow.

It's an envelope. Her name is written on it in neat, script handwriting. 

Even though she has no idea what the contents are, the sight of it fills her with dread. No good news ever came like this.

She picks it up and slides her finger under the flap, the envelope tearing easily against the pressure. She slides the paper out and unfolds it. Knife-sharp creases, precisely separating the sheet into thirds. 

“Dear Hermione,” the note begins, still in that same neat handwriting, “I hope you can forgive me.”

Terror clenches her stomach in an iron fist as she takes in the contents of the note, and her hands are shaking by the time she reaches the bottom.

“Steve!” she calls, then, louder, “STEVE!”

Steve runs into the room, clearing it, while simultaneously taking in her wide-eyed, pale, and shaking form.

“Hermione, what -?”

Wordlessly, she thrusts the note at him. He takes it and rests one hand on her shoulder as he reads it.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I hope you can forgive me. Unfortunately, the true nature of my trip to New York was very sensitive, and no one could know about it. I'm only telling you because, in case something goes badly wrong, I want my parents to know the truth. I want it to come from someone they know and trust._

_To put it simply, I am bait. I'm sure you noticed the pattern of the people who were attacked: young men of a very specific age range. MACUSA and the Ministry suspected they were taken in by someone known to them, so they sent me to New York to follow Demetrius Gray's exact itinerary, to see if they could lure out whoever did this._

_It worked. I'm going tonight. I should be all right, but I've learned you can never have enough contingency plans._

_Hence, this letter. Please tell my mum I love her._

_I'm glad I got to spend this time with you, and I'm sorry you had to learn like this._

_Yours,_

_Percy_

The paper crinkles in Steve's fist as his hand clenches convulsively around it. His breath is shaking. He looks over at Hermione, and to his surprise, she's picked up her guidebook.

“What are you doing? There's not going to be anything useful in there.”

“The notes section,” Hermione says. She flips to the back and taps the corners with her wand. Steve watches as ink rises from the page, forming into line after line of notes. “I noticed an address in Percy's handwriting in it. I didn't think anything of it, but he would have had to communicate with the Ministry and MACUSA to tell them where he was going, wouldn't he?” She looks up at him, her cheeks tear-stained, but her jaw set. “Where's this?” 

Steve takes the book from her and immediately spots the address. “It's in uptown. Other side of the city.”

Hermione is already putting her cardigan back on. She flashes Steve an impatient look.

“Well? What are you waiting for?”

“To start a rescue mission, I guess,” Steve says. He knows the letter says that Percy will be fine, but he doesn't like leaving that to chance - and he's glad that Hermione feels the same way. “We'll Apparate.” He holds out his arm to her, and Hermione hooks her arm through his. “Three, two, one.”

With a sound like a gunshot, they vanish.

Seconds later, they reappear in an empty room. Hermione takes a moment to look around: it looks like a living room with a couch and two chairs, stained glass lamp, and a low table with a few impressive-looking books on it.

“Where are we?”

“Safehouse. MACUSA has properties all over the city so we always have somewhere safe to Apparate. Come on.”

They hurry out onto the sidewalk, and Steve takes a moment to get his bearings before gesturing for Hermione to follow him. They go up a few blocks and he slows at what appears to be a wall, decorated with only a few ragged advertisements. 

“That note had a number on it. What was it?”

“Six.”

“Here goes nothing.” Steve slips his wand out of the holster in his sleeve and taps it against the perfume advertisement. One, two, three, four, five, six. 

Nothing happens for a long moment. Then the bricks start to roll back, revealing a door. Without hesitating, Steve pushes the door open and goes in, Hermione at his heels. 

Inside, the bar is like many others: low lighting, dark wood, a few booths and tables. The bartender turns to them and frowns, opening his mouth.

Hermione instantly ducks under Steve's arm and makes a sharp gesture with her wand. The bartender collapses.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve mutters.

“He's just Stunned,” Hermione whispers defensively.

Behind them, someone coughs. Steve whirls, shoving Hermione behind him, wand pointed out. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” a figure all in black hisses, standing from one of the booths. “Is this some kind of misguided rescue mission? Don't tell me you came barging in here like a goddamn prince on a steed -”

“Guilty as charged,” Steve admits. “Nat, what the fuck is happening here?”

The figure yanks off their hood, revealing red hair pulled back into a tight bun. In her hoodie, black jeans, and heavy boots, Natasha looks a million miles away from the glamorous front she presents at MACUSA. 

“What's happening here is you're not going to screw this up for me,” she whispers. “How did you -?”

“Percy left me a note,” Hermione admits.

Natasha scowls. “I need to have a word with _him_ , too.”

The bickering is interrupted by a bloodcurdling scream from the back room. There's a second one, and then it fades away. The silence that fills the room seems much more ominous than before.

Natasha looks at Steve and gestures. _You go left._ Steve nods. The two Aurors move to the back of the room on cat-like feet, Hermione close behind. 

Natasha bursts through and makes a sharp jabbing motion with her wand, and one of the figures in the room goes stiff and drops like a board. The other person has just enough time to draw a wand before Steve drops them, too. 

“Percy!” 

Hermione rushes to the table in the center of the room. A single light shines down, spotlighting the pale, prone figure on it. He's unconscious, shirt ripped open and halfway off. His left arm is mutilated with runes, a pool of blood slowly spreading across the tabletop. It's like when Ron was splinched, but so much worse. Hermione swallows hard and wishes she'd gotten into the habit of carrying dittany with her.

“ _Ferula_ ,” she murmurs and watches as bandages wrap around Percy's injured arm. Blood immediately starts soaking through, but it's the best she can do right now.

“Who've we got here?” Natasha asks, drawing Hermione's attention away. The figure closer to Hermione is a young woman with dark hair, her hand still clutched around the bloody dagger. Steve goes around to the other side of the table and inhales, sharply. 

“ _Shit_.”

The two women come around and Hermione instantly realizes why he's upset. The other young woman in a Full-Body Bind has long blonde hair and the exact same clear blue eyes as Steve. 

Steve glances at Natasha. “Get him to St. Ambrosius, then come right back here.” 

“There's two of them,” Natasha points out, and there's a whole other conversation happening under those words. Steve looks away, then back to the bodies on the floor, then to Natasha. He sighs and shakes his head slightly, and she gives him a stern look. 

“Hermione, keep your wand on the other one.”

Immediately, Hermione shifts her wand to point at the dark-haired woman. Although she's still under the Full-Body Bind, who knows how making Horcruxes might have affected their magic?

Steve swishes and flicks his wand so the blonde woman levitates an inch or so off the floor, and sets her down next to the dark-haired woman. Natasha similarly levitates Percy off the table, then vanishes with him.

With a glower, Steve bends down and yanks the wand out of the blonde woman's hand, then makes a twirling motion with his own so ropes wrap tightly around her. He slashes with his wand, and the woman blinks at them.

“You wanna explain why I found you making Horcruxes, Sarah?”

“It's for the greater good, Stevie.” Sarah's voice is gentle and lilting, but there's an undercurrent of something hard and dark. 

Hermione starts and looks at Steve in surprise. That's Grindelwald's motto. Could it be a coincidence?

“Oh, your friend recognizes it,” Sarah continues. “Pretty _and_ smart. Has Stevie told you about our family's . . . intimate connection with Grindelwald? He probably hasn't. It doesn't fit so well with his whole _hero_ thing.”

“Now's not the time, Sarah,” Steve growls. Sarah ignores him, turning the full force of her clear blue eyes onto Hermione. They're so much like Steve's, but there's a wild tinge to them that's unsettling. 

“Our great-grandfather, Percival, was one of Gellert Grindelwald’s first and most loyal followers,” Sarah says. “When it came time for him to make the greatest sacrifice for Grindelwald, he did it without hesitation.”

“He let Grindelwald murder him and steal his face,” Steve spits.

A cracking noise alerts them to Natasha's return, and she comes next to Hermione, shifting her wand between the two women. 

“Who's stealing faces?” she asks, eyebrows lifting. 

“We're everywhere, Stevie,” Sarah says, looking back at her brother. “Cut us down and three more will spring up. We follow Grindelwald's vision and we will see wizard supremacy in our lifetime. And now Bea and I are immortal.”

“The hell you are,” Steve says. “You're cursed, and you're damn fools. Nat, let's get them into lock-up. Percy's at Ambrosius?”

“He'll be okay,” Natasha confirms.

“Okay?” Hermione echoes. “Did you see his arm?”

Natasha flashes a look at her. “He's alive,” she says. “He'll be okay.”

She takes out a business card and twirls it around her fingers before pressing it into the other woman's hand. “Get to St. Ambrosius. Tell them you're with Ryzhkov. They'll take you to Percy.”

Hermione nods and commits the address to memory before Apparating away. 


	10. Chapter 10

“State your name, age, and occupation for the record.”

“Percy Weasley. Age twenty-five. Junior Assistant to Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt.” Percy's words are clear and concise, though he still looks pale. His left arm is bandaged and he keeps it curled close to his body, the sleeve of his button-down rolled up to accommodate the additional bulk. 

Director Hawk glances to the side. “Maria?” 

Hawk's second-in-command, a woman with short dark hair, nods without looking up from her parchment. 

“Go ahead.”

Steve stands directly behind Percy, hands behind his back, tall and intimidating in his Auror robes. Natasha stands by the door, also in her robes, keeping one eye on the proceedings and one on the door. Hermione sits next to Percy, watching him, torn between being angry with him for leaving the hospital and testifying so soon, or proud for the exact same reason.

“Mr. Weasley, can you describe the events of November 15 and 16, 2003?”

“Yes, sir. I had been following Demetrius Gray's itinerary as ordered, which meant on 15th November, I toured the Empire State Building, then around 4:15, I walked from the Empire State Building to the Strand bookstore. I was approached by Beatrice Ingraham approximately three blocks north of the Strand, and she invited me to meet her for drinks the next night.”

“She gave you an address?” Hawk asks.

Percy shakes his head. “She never spoke the address out loud. I asked her to write it in the guidebook I had been provided by the Ministry, along with the password. She seemed hesitant, but she wrote it.”

“After that?”

“After that, I went to the Strand but didn't stay long. I felt nervous and didn't want to be in public any longer.”

“Did anything else noteworthy happen that day?” 

“I made some additional notes in the guidebook that I felt would be useful for Agent Ryzhkov and anyone else who might be reading the book later.” 

He doesn't glance back at Steve, who keeps his gaze perfectly forward.

Hawk looks over at Maria and waits for her to finish writing before turning his eye back to Percy.

“I understand you broke protocol and left a note for Miss Granger.”

“Yes, sir.” Percy shifts in his seat. “I knew that Agent Ryzhkov was more than equal to any threat at the bar, but I've also learned that plans have a tendency to go awry. If things went wrong, I wanted Hermione to hear it from me, even if I didn't have a chance to tell her face-to-face.”

He doesn't look at her, either, but she gives his good wrist a gentle squeeze. She's still angry, but knowing how important this is has taken some of the edge off.

“Tell me about what happened when you arrived at the bar.”

“I arrived about five minutes before seven o'clock. There is a perfume advertisement outside of the bar that Beatrice had told me to tap six times with my wand to reveal the entrance, so I did. When I went inside, the bartender asked if he could help me, so I gave him the password, which was ‘just stopped raining’. He told me to go into the back, which was separated from the main bar by a beaded curtain.

“I went into the back and Beatrice was waiting for me. We were the only ones in there at the time. She and I made some small talk and she ordered two beers.”

“Did she drink any of hers?”

“I don't think so. My memories from this point forward are a bit spotty, though. She may have and I didn't notice.”

Hawk nods. “Go ahead.”

“I did drink some beer and it tasted fine. That was when Sarah Graves came in.”

“Did you recognize her?”

“Only through pictures Agent Graves had shown me. I'd never met her in person.”

“Do you think she recognized you?”

“I very much doubt it. I think that if Miss Graves had suspected I had any sort of connection to her brother, she would have tried to dissuade Beatrice or killed me in a way that wouldn't be connected to them. She wouldn't have wanted to get MACUSA's attention any more than she already had.”

A muscle in Steve's jaw twitches, but other than that, he doesn't move.

“She had something with her, didn't she?”

“She did. It was a tiara of some sort, I think. It had opals in it. That was the container for the Horcrux, wasn't it?”

“We believe so,” Hawk says. “Go on. What next?”

“I was starting to feel ill. At that time, I didn't think my drink was drugged. I told Beatrice I didn't feel well, and I stood up, and I got very dizzy and sick very quickly. I knew I couldn't be drunk because I'd only had a few sips of beer, so I realized that it had to have been drugged. I said something to her, I don't remember exactly what - if she had done something to my drink, why she had done that - and she said she needed me to be compliant. 

“I blacked out momentarily, and when I came to, I was on the table where the agents and Hermione found me. Beatrice said she was glad I was awake, and Sarah laughed and said she liked it better that way. Sarah set the tiara down, and she gave Beatrice a knife that she had brought with her. I -"

"Director Hawk, is this really necessary?" Steve cuts in. Percy twists around to look up at him. "We can safely put two and two together from here. Beatrice Ingraham was found holding a knife with Percy's blood on it."

"Agent Graves, we need the whole story, otherwise we only have circumstantial evidence," Hawk says. His voice is firm, edging into harshness. "Continue, Mr. Weasley."

"I tried to ask Beatrice what she was doing, but the drugs were starting to take further effect and I couldn't speak very well at this point or think clearly. I was scared. They were talking, but I couldn't focus on what they were saying." Percy swallows. Hermione reaches out and rests her hand on his. He turns his hand over and takes hers, and she watches him inhale, preparing to go on.

"I would presume that was when Beatrice started carving the runes. It hurt." His voice is steady, but he's holding Hermione's hand like a lifeline. "I'm fairly certain I screamed. They didn't try to stop me or quiet me down. I must have just kept screaming until I passed out. I woke up in St. Ambrosius, thanks to Agent Rhyzkov."

Director Hawk looks at Maria again. Her quill moves incredibly quickly against the parchment, then she nods.

"Anything else, Mr. Weasley?"

"No, sir. I'm sure you were able to get the rest of the information from Agent Graves and Agent Ryzhkov."

"I think that will be all, Mr. Weasley. You're dismissed. Miss Granger, Agent Graves, and Agent Ryzhkov - you're not."

Percy gets up. "I'm going to the flat," he tells Steve, softly. "I'll see you and Hermione when you get back."

"We'll see you soon," Hermione says.

"I wouldn't count on it," Steve mutters. 


	11. Chapter 11

Steve and Hermione get back to the apartment four hours later, following an extremely intense interrogation. Maria had been writing so quickly she'd had ink spattered on her face by the end, and at least five rolls of parchment piled in front of her.

"Perce?" Steve calls, closing the front door. Silence answers them, and though she knows chances are he's asleep or showering or a thousand other perfectly normal reasons he isn't responding, Hermione feels a thrill of nerves.

"Perce?" Steve calls again. He draws his wand out from its holster, holding it loosely, and gestures for Hermione to stay put. Going ahead, he pushes open the door of the room Percy is staying in, and Hermione sees the moment his shoulders lose their tension.

"Asleep," he reports back, coming back to the family room. "Let's order something in. I don't want him waking up to an empty apartment."

Hermione smiles at him. "Exactly what I was thinking."

They order Thai, and Steve goes out to pick it up while Hermione changes and sticks her head in to check on Percy. It looks like he collapsed on the bed as soon as he got back: still fully dressed, bandaged arm carefully stretched out, glasses askew on the bedside table. 

She watches him until she sees his chest rise and fall, then for a moment or two longer. She'd seen him asleep on the plane, of course, but there's something… different about this. 

Quietly, she steps away from the door and closes it behind her. Merlin knows he needs his rest. 

Hermione and Steve eat on the couch, watching a baking competition show when they hear footsteps behind them. Steve turns and grins.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty. How're you feeling?"

"Starving," Percy replies. "Did you save anything for me?"

"Red curry noodles with chicken in the fridge."

"Thank you."

Hermione watches him go into the kitchen, realizing it's been some time since she's seen him quite so disheveled. She supposes with only one arm easily at the ready and nowhere to go, it doesn't make a lot of sense to fuss over one's appearance. 

Percy joins them with his Styrofoam container of noodles and a glass of water, fork balanced on top of the container. He opens the container and as he starts to eat, Hermione suddenly sees the family resemblance to Ron. Of course they looked alike, but this is the first time she's seen Percy shoveling down food the same way his brother does. She hides a smile and turns her attention back to the television. 

"What time is it?" Percy asks when he takes a chance to breathe.

"A little after seven," Hermione tells him, checking her watch. 

"How was the rest of the interrogation?"

"No one got in trouble for your letter," Steve says. "Hawk had some choice words but ultimately decided it was for the best that Hermione and I were able to help."

"Director Hawk's goal seemed to be to find out exactly how much you had told us," Hermione continues. "I think the fact that it was only the letter was a mitigating factor."

"What about your sister?" Percy asks Steve.

Steve's jaw tightens. "She's in the MACUSA holding cells until her trial, then if she's convicted, she'll go to prison. I'm guessing not one of the minimum security ones."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too."

Once Percy is done inhaling his dinner, he goes to put his dishes away, and Steve gestures to the empty spot of the couch between himself and Hermione. Percy hesitates - there's something in his face that makes it clear he'd love the physical nearness, but it's at war with his desire to keep that thin veneer of propriety and professionalism over all of their relationships. 

"Please?" Hermione says. It's as much for her as it is for Steve. She wants to keep an eye on him, too. 

Percy exhales and nods, settling down between them. It only takes Steve a moment to put his arm along the back of the couch, not touching Percy directly, but close enough to make it clear it's a protective gesture. Hermione settles in a little closer, too, her arm brushing against his. It takes a moment, but out of the corner of her eye, she sees Percy's shoulders slowly relax, and she smiles to herself. 

Despite the fact that she'd been told by Hawk that she didn't need to come in the next day, Hermione is still up at her usual time. She lies in bed for a moment, debating if it's worth going back to sleep, then realizes their time in New York is likely coming to a close, and soon. It would make much more sense to spend the time packing.

She gets dressed, then hears movement out in the main room. Maybe Steve will be able to shed a little more light on how much longer they have.

The thought makes her sad. Despite the reason for their trip, she's liked working with Peter and Shuri, and staying in a city like New York - even if she's really only seen the section between MACUSA and the flat - it’s been fun. 

"Morning," Steve greets her as she steps out. "Sleep well?"

Hermione nods, going over to the refrigerator. "A bowl of fresh fruit and a mug of Earl Grey with lemon and sugar, please." She opens the door and sighs. Rather than giving her the small bowl she'd meant, the refrigerator had provided her with a bowl that could easily feed a whole family.

Steve glances over and chuckles. "Told you you needed to be careful about quantity. It must think you look hungry."

"I don't think I've ever been _that_ hungry." She takes the bowl and tea, carrying them to the kitchen table. "Would you like some?"

"Thanks."

Hermione gets a plate and picks out enough to fill it, which still leaves behind plenty. She eyes the bowl and reaches for one more piece of cantaloupe, at the same time as Steve. Their fingers brush just over the slice of melon, and Hermione pulls her hand back, hoping her cheeks aren't too pink.

"Go ahead."

Steve smiles at her and takes it, and now she's feeling definite heat in her cheeks. 

"Do you know how much longer we're expected to be here?" she asks, wanting to distract him, though she knows it absolutely won't work. 

"Hawk hasn't said for sure yet, but I think tomorrow, Friday at the latest."

"Oh." Although it's a business trip, and their business is concluded, it still seems very sudden. 

"I was thinking, though," Steve says, "I'm still on guard duty. If you and Perce wanted to spend the day seeing the sights, I'd have to tag along."

"We could do that?"

Steve shrugs. "I can't stop you. You're not expected at MACUSA today, so you've got a day - how did Perce put it?"

"'Time that hasn't been officially structured by the Ministry,'" Percy says. "Good morning." He goes to the refrigerator. "Black coffee."

" _Perce_."

Percy sighs. "And oatmeal with peaches. For one." He opens the refrigerator and fetches his mug and oatmeal, joining them at the table. "I told you that I'm not that hungry in the morning, Steve."

"It's bad enough I'm sending you back to your mom with a busted arm. I'm not going to explain to her that you came back underfed too."

Percy opens his mouth but Hermione pipes up before he can speak, "Steve was suggesting we take advantage of this time that hasn't been officially structured by the Ministry to see the city. What do you think?"

"That sounds nice," Percy says. "What did you want to see?"

"The Empire State Building," Hermione says without hesitation. "The Natural History Museum. Central Park. The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Brooklyn."

Steve chuckles. "That's three solid days of tourism. I think we can fit in two or three of those in today if we get going."

It's an exhausting, but wonderful day. Steve is an excellent guide. From the viewing platform of the Empire State Building, he points out the MACUSA building, the Statue of Liberty, Brooklyn Bridge, and Times Square.

"The apartment building's there," he adds, pointing again in the direction of MACUSA. 

"You can't possibly tell that from here," says Hermione.

Steve grins. "Can't I?"

"I'm questioning that, too," Percy says. He's pressed up against the wall of the outdoor viewing platform, as far from the edge as it's possible to get. 

"The apartment building is one block south and two blocks east of MACUSA," Steve says. He traces it in the air with his finger. "Right there."

"It all looks the same to me," Hermione admits.

Steve shakes his head. "Just means that you need to spend more time here."

From the Empire State Building, they take what Steve calls the "nickel tour" of the Natural History Museum, where he shows them the highlights. Hermione manages to get a few items added to the itinerary, and Steve declares it solidly a "dime tour" as they leave. 

They wrap up the day at Central Park, watching the sunset on the Bethesda Terrace. The sun paints the angel's outstretched wings a brilliant orange, and Hermione carefully balances the container of shawarma and rice on her lap. 

"So what was your favorite part of the day?" she asks Percy. He doesn't answer immediately, too busy navigating the task of eating a falafel wrap without dripping tzatziki sauce on his coat. 

"The Natural History Museum," he replies. "I wish I'd had a chance to see it earlier. What about you?"

She thinks about it. "I think the Natural History Museum as well. The room with the squid and the whale - it's amazing what's happening under the sea, and in the sky, and we have no idea."

"We've got our own things to deal with," Steve adds. He stretches his legs out. "So what do you think, Hermione? Did today scratch the itch or are you coming back?"

"I've got to come back," Hermione says. "I've barely even scratched the surface. We didn't get to the Met or Rockefeller Center - not to mention we haven't seen any of Brooklyn."

"Don't come for a business trip next time," Steve says, but he's looking at Percy. Percy glances back at him and for a moment, the setting sun catches him so that he's haloed by fire. Steve doesn't drop his gaze until Percy looks back at his wrap. When he looks away, too, there's something bittersweet there.

They fall into silence as the sun sinks behind the skyscrapers, and the sky fades from blazing oranges and pinks to lavender to navy blue. It seems almost impossible to imagine that they're leaving this place where so much has happened in so short of a time, that tomorrow it'll be back to London, back to the Ministry and to a normal life.

Hermione looks at Percy and feels the urge to touch his hand. She reaches out and lays her fingers gently against his wrist for a moment. He looks up and smiles, a crooked flash across his face, then turns to Steve, who's watching them. In that moment, it seems something crackles between them, and when Steve's blue eyes shift to Hermione, she feels it, too.

"Do you want to head back to the apartment?" Steve asks. Maybe it's just her imagination, or maybe he does sound a touch breathless.

"I think that's a good idea," Percy answers. He unfolds to his feet, crumpling the foil of his wrap in one hand. "Are we Apparating?"

"The sooner, the better," Steve replies. "There's a safe house on 70th and Park. Let's go."


	12. Chapter 12

They've barely rematerialized in the apartment on the Lower East Side when Steve reaches for Percy's collar, then pauses. 

"Wait. I didn't entirely misread this, did I? We're doing this?"

"I thought so," Percy says, then looks at Hermione. "Aren't we? You're okay with it?"

Hermione feels lightheaded at the prospect of her fantasies actually coming true. "Yes! I mean." Should she sound so enthusiastic? "Yes."

"Great," Steve says, relieved. His hand curls into Percy's collar, and he unceremoniously pulls the redhead close and kisses him. Percy kisses back enthusiastically, pressing himself tightly to Steve's body. They break apart and Percy turns to Hermione, holding out a hand out to her. She takes it, then one step, two, and his mouth is on hers. There is a comfort and familiarity to it that eases the nerves thrilling up her spine, even as it sets a wave of heat through her stomach. 

She sighs as he pulls back, and Steve's hands cup her face like she's something delicate and breakable. Her fingers tighten in Percy's hand.

"I've been wanting to do this the whole damn time," Steve murmurs, and he kisses her. Unlike Percy, all sharp angles and neat precision, Steve is broad and overwhelming, like the only thing keeping her from being washed away by the size of his desire is her grip on Percy's hand, and the arm she snakes around Steve's neck. 

The nearest bedroom is Steve's, and he leads the way. He gestures them in ahead of him, and when he closes the door behind them, he looks like it's Christmas and his birthday all at once, and also he's been given a free ice cream cone. 

"I've never done anything like this before," Hermione says. She feels that it's important to set that out at the beginning.

"Me neither," Steve admits. "We'll be learning together." They both look at Percy.

"Once," he offers. "It was …" He hesitates. "Complicated, but enjoyable."

"Hopefully this will just be enjoyable," Steve says, and he closes the distance between them to kiss Percy again. With nimble fingers, he slides the tie out from under Percy's sweater vest and undoes it.

Hermione watches them and has to wet her suddenly dry lips. Catching a glimpse of them by accident had been one thing, but being given permission to stare and take in as much as she wants is a little overwhelming. She moves forward and pushes her hands under Percy's sweater to get it off. 

The boys pull apart and Percy raises his arms obediently to help her in getting the sweater off. He winces slightly as it catches on his bandage, and Hermione glances at Steve. He nods.

"Lie down, Perce," he says, and it's almost as much an order as a request. Percy nods, his breathing just a little heavier than before.

"Back or stomach?"

"Back," Steve replies, and Percy nods, settling onto the bed on his back, eyes shifting between Steve and Hermione. Steve moves to Hermione and kisses her again, and she presses herself to him like she's trying to get every point of contact with him that she possibly can. As they kiss, Steve begins to work her shirt off, his large hands spanning her back and stomach. He hesitates just under her breasts, and even Percy can see how she impatiently nips at his lower lip to urge him forward. Steve lets out a little huff of laughter and does as she asks, cupping her breasts, fingers lightly rubbing over her nipples through her bra. She arches against him, then lets out a whine when Steve suddenly pulls back.

"Lie back down," he tells Percy.

"I'm just meant to lie here and watch the two of you snog?" Percy asks incredulously, having indeed half sat up like he's about to get up.

Steve raises an eyebrow. "You got a problem with watching us put on a show for you?"

"Well, _no_ , but I'm presuming I will get to be involved at some point?" His eyes flick down to where Steve's hand rests on the curve of Hermione's waist, and he swallows. "Right?"

"Behave and we'll find out," Steve retorts, then turns back to Hermione. "Now where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?"

"Right about here," Hermione replies, and she shifts his hands back to her breasts. He grins.

"That's right." He gives her breasts a squeeze, and she reaches for the hem of his henley, wanting the feel of skin against skin. Although it means he has to move his hands to get it off, when he pulls her close and she feels his heated skin against hers, it's worth the small sacrifice.

"You feel good," she murmurs, and her hands roam over the broad expanse of his chest and stomach. "So _warm_."

"You feel good, too," Steve says. He nods to her jeans. "Can we get these off?" She nods and undoes the button and zip so they puddle around her ankles. He reaches for her and Hermione lets out a startled shriek as he scoops her up, encouraging her legs around his waist. "And that's _much_ better." 

It is much better indeed. Every inch of her skin is pressed up against him, and every brush of his body against hers sends a shiver of pleasure down her spine and into her core. Even more arousing, she can feel Steve's erection pressing against her ass, and knowing that it's so close is quite the turn-on. Steve ducks his head and presses his mouth to her neck, and the scratch of stubble and the heat of his breath makes her let out a shivery moan. She moves her hips against his body before she can stop herself. He nips gently at her neck then. She is absolutely going to lose her mind before this evening is over. 

"Can this come off, too?" he asks against her neck, and he tugs at her bra strap with his teeth to clearly indicate what _this_ is.

"Yes," Hermione replies breathlessly. "Please."

"Perce?" Still holding her, he turns so her back is facing the bed, and she feels Percy's cool, slim fingers tugging at the hooks of her bra. They come apart under his touch. Hermione wriggles out of her bra and feels her cheeks heat at the openly lustful look on Steve's face. He ducks down a little to catch one of her nipples in his mouth, and she cries out, arching her back, fingers twisting into his hair. Her hips move against him, eager for some sort of friction, and his breath hitches.

Steve pulls back and carefully deposits Hermione on the bed next to Percy. He tilts his head slightly, an invitation. Percy meets Hermione's eyes and arches a brow. Hermione nods and crawls to him, settling herself in his lap. While his mouth finds hers, his hands cup her breasts, playing with her nipples. She feels the bed sink down behind them, then another set of hands covers her breasts. She has to break the kiss then, overwhelmed and out of breath.

"Think she wants more?" Steve's voice is almost a growl, his breath hot along her neck. The scratch of his stubble sends hot shivers down her spine, and she grinds herself against Percy.

"She's perfectly capable of telling you what she wants herself," she says. "And that is more."

"Bossy," Steve says, but makes up for it by nibbling at the junction of her neck and shoulder. Percy leans forward, sandwiching Hermione between them, and kisses Steve again. Since she has the opportunity, Hermione starts unbuttoning his shirt. It's not very fair, after all - she's only in her panties, and Steve is just wearing jeans, but Percy is still mostly dressed. Although she knows they need to be mindful of his injured arm, that doesn't mean he should miss out on everything. 

Percy breaks the kiss to shrug out of his shirt when Hermione is finished unbuttoning it, setting it aside. 

"Lie back down," Steve orders him. 

"If you think I'm just going to lie there and watch you and Hermione -"

"'Scuse me, Hermione," Steve interrupts. Hermione scoots out of his way and Steve pushes into Percy, kissing him hard, mouths open and eager. Using his size to his advantage, Steve pushes Percy down against the bed, one hand carefully cupping his arm, the other massaging his crotch. 

"Shut your damn mouth, Weasley," Steve advises, pulling back, their faces barely apart. 

Percy's eyes spark, and he conscientiously removes his glasses, placing them on the bedside table. "You're not giving me a lot of motivation to do so."

"Keep talking and we'll find out what happens," Steve says. He glances back at Hermione, then sits up, gesturing for her to come closer. "There's something I'd like to try. It lets us take care of Percy, and he doesn't have to move that arm. What do you think?" 

"I'm interested," Hermione says, and Steve grins at her. 

"I was hoping you'd say that. Get on your hands and knees."

Hermione does so, feeling extremely exposed and aroused. The arousal only increases when Steve curls his fingers around the waistband of her panties, sliding them off, leaving her naked. She feels him shifting behind her, then his hot breath against her core, and suddenly his tongue flickers inside of her. She cries out, bucking her hips in surprise, and she hears Percy exhale in pleasure under her. Steve slides a hand between her legs, gently toying with her clit, working in concert with his tongue. Hermione spreads her legs further in response, moaning. 

Steve pulls away and Hermione makes a sound of protest. 

"Don't worry, I'm not done with you yet," he promises. Hermione opens her eyes and sees Percy fondling himself through his jeans, eyes hooded, watching her. "Perce, you're still extremely dressed."

"You too," Percy retorts. All the same, he shifts his legs from around Hermione and shimmies out of his jeans and underwear, kicking them onto the floor. His erection springs free, and Hermione realizes with sudden clarity what, exactly, it is that Steve has in mind. 

Her core tingles in anticipation. 

"Hermione, if it's okay with you, I'm going to have you start sucking Percy off," Steve says, "then once you two are in a good rhythm, I'll fuck you doggy-style. Okay?"

Hermione smiles. It's really sweet how he checks in with her at every step. She doesn't think it's likely that all American men are like that, but she likes that she's found one that is. 

"Yes, that's fine." She shifts down onto her elbows and takes Percy into her mouth. It makes her moan a little - his scent and taste are so familiar, and the way he tenses and shivers under her brings back a flood of memories. They're in his flat at midnight, sneaking around at the Burrow, her bedroom on a Sunday morning - and now, in New York City with someone else watching. She chances a glance at Steve, and his eyes are locked on her. She supposes she'd better make the show worth his while.

Slowly at first, she starts to bob up and down along Percy’s length, taking as much as she can, then pulling back. Once she's re-familiarized herself with him, she wraps a hand around the base of his cock. He sucks in a sharp gasp, and trembles under her with the effort of not thrusting into her mouth. She hums around him. His fingers twist into the bedsheets, breathing already getting a touch ragged. 

She's reminded of their company - as much as she could forget about him, anyway - by his hands on her hips.

"Ready?" His voice sounds low and wanting, and Hermione feels her arousal rising to match his. Instead of taking her mouth off of Percy, she shifts to spread her legs for Steve. It feels wicked, and she hopes he can tell how much she wants this.

He chuckles. "I'll take that as a yes." His hand presses to her core, rubbing against her clit. She moans around Percy, her hips rocking back, eager for more friction. Steve moves his hand, but she isn't bereft for long. His cock presses against her entrance, and she pauses her ministrations for a moment to focus on the way he feels as he slides into her. 

He gives her the time she needs to adjust, then begins to move. She moans, loud, and starts to bob along Percy's length again in an attempt to keep herself quiet, although it's probably a lost cause.

Steve's hands are tight on her hips, maintaining a steady rhythm. Hermione focuses on the feeling of Percy's and Steve's cocks inside of her, and how filthy and wonderful it feels. That feeling of being desired and filled by two gorgeous men - well, it certainly isn't one she ever dreamed of experiencing, but now that she has, it's going to stick with her for a long, long time.

Percy is the first to start breaking. His fingers twitch against the bedsheets, finally getting a grip on them. His hips jerk and twitch under Hermione's mouth, and his lips part slightly as his breathing speeds up. Taking the hint, Hermione dips down to take him deeper down her throat, swallowing around his cock, her hand moving more quickly around the base of his shaft. Steve seems determined to distract her and begins moving faster against her, driving in deeper. This also involuntarily speeds up her pace on Percy, and he gasps out,

"Hermione - Hermione, I'm - oh God - "

Hermione doesn't move, and the taste of his cum floods her mouth. She winces a little, but swallows it gamely, milking every last drop out of him. Slowly, she lifts her mouth off of him, which conveniently allows her to focus more completely on Steve. His grip on her is tight - not enough to hurt, just enough to claim. 

Percy shifts a little, and he presses a hand to her clit, rubbing it as Steve continues to thrust. It's a _lot_ , and the moans and cries Hermione lets out are enough to make her glad the room is Silenced. She rocks between Steve and Percy, trying to get as much of both as absolutely possible. Steve adjusts his angle and hits _something_ and Hermione involuntarily tightens around him. He groans, loud and low, and keeps going, trying to hit it over and over again. Whatever it is, it's working, and she clenches around Steve, gasping and whimpering through possibly her most intense orgasm ever. 

"Shit," Steve says, and he's chanting it over and over again, "shit, shit, shit -"

His grip on Hermione's hips does tighten enough to hurt then, just for a moment, and he howls out as he spills inside of her. Almost immediately, he releases his hold on her and rubs his hands on her hips in silent apology.

Hermione, for her part, just moves enough that she can collapse more fully onto Percy. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her close, and presses a kiss to her wild curls. 

"Hey, don't forget about me," says Steve, and he curls up alongside them, twisting his legs with Percy's and draping an arm over Hermione. It feels … nice. Comfortable. Safe and warm. Although she knows it's not likely to ever happen, Hermione imagines falling asleep like this regularly, wrapped up and adored.

She nestles her head against Percy's chest and lets the steady beat of his heart lull her to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

It feels strange to be loading their bags into the back of the MACUSA SUV again. When Steve closes the trunk, it sounds very final. Percy gives Hermione's hand a squeeze, then goes to the passenger side door to get it for her. 

"I tried to talk Hawk into a couple of extra days," Steve says. "I don't think I ever want to be looked at like that again."

"I appreciate your trying," says Percy. He opens the back door and climbs in, and Steve gets the driver's door. 

"Well, when you come back, hopefully, my sister won't be on a killing spree and we'll be able to see more of the city. I didn't get to take you to Brooklyn." He starts the car.

"Is it a when?" Hermione asks.

Steve smiles at her. "I'm hoping so."

She smiles back. "Me too."

The drive back to Newark is uneventful. It feels like all too soon that Steve is pulling up to the door marked "Departures" at the airport. 

"This is it," he says. He looks at Hermione, then Percy. The sadness in his clear blue eyes is unmistakable. "I'll get the bags."

Hermione and Percy follow suit. As she takes her bag from him, Hermione pops up onto her tiptoes and kisses Steve's cheek. He turns his head slightly, and she presses one more to the corner of his mouth. 

"Thank you," she says. "I couldn't have asked for a better guide to the city. I can't wait to come back." 

Steve puts his arms around her and hugs her. "Come by anytime." 

She takes the handle of her bag and goes onto the sidewalk. Percy steps up to get his bag and for a moment, he and Steve just look at each other. The longing is almost electric, and the things being left unsaid fill the air. 

"Come back soon," Steve says finally.

"I will." He reaches for the handle of his bag and rests his hand on Steve's as he takes it. Their fingers brush against each other, then Percy takes the bag, and Steve steps back.

"See you later."

"Till then."

Steve waves to them, then gets in the car and pulls away. Percy visibly gathers himself, then turns to Hermione and offers his arm to her. She takes it, squeezes it gently, and they go in together.

After they check in for the flight and make it through security, they find seats in the waiting area outside their gate.

"Percy?" Hermione says. 

"Yes?"

She hesitates, not sure how to ask the question, and even less sure what she wants the answer to be. "What does this mean for us?"

To his credit, he doesn't ask her to clarify. He considers her words for a moment.

"I don't know. What would you like it to mean for us?"

Hermione laughs. "I can't say I know either. I was hoping to take a cue from you."

"Well." He goes quiet again, as though measuring out each word in his mind. "I'm very fond of you. I certainly wouldn't be opposed if something did occur. Perhaps we should take it one step at a time, see what happens?"

Hermione nods. Although it's a bit of a non-answer, she likes that he's  _ very fond  _ of her - after all, she's very fond of him too. It feels like the right solution. Not to force anything, just see how things play out.

"Okay," she says.

"Okay," he replies, and that crooked smile curls across his face. "I'm going to get coffee. Anything for you?"

"I'd love an Earl Grey, please."

"I'll be right back." He unfolds from his seat and aims towards the coffee shop near the gate. Hermione watches him go. Even in his jeans and dark grey sweater, he cuts a fine figure. One she thinks she'd be happy finding a future with - and also one she'd be happy keeping as a dear friend with excellent side benefits.

One step at a time. First step, coffee.

_ Christmas Eve, three weeks later.  _

There's a sound like a gunshot in the backyard of the Burrow, and Percy suddenly appears. The shock of Apparition causes him to stumble, and he throws his arms wide to keep from falling face-first into the snow. Once he catches his balance and ascertains that no one saw him, he hurries up the back stairs and pushes the door open.

"Mum?" 

"Perce!" Molly beams at him, setting down the rolling pin and hurrying over to him for a hug. She's careful not to get her flour-covered hands on his traveling cloak, and he bends dutifully to allow her to kiss him on the cheek. "So glad you made it. Go upstairs and change, and then go to the front hall. There's a surprise for you."

"Yes, Mum."

A surprise in the front hall? Who in Merlin's name is sending him gifts at his parents' house? He goes up the stairs to the second landing, pushing open the door to the room he still thinks of as  _ his _ , even though he hasn't lived regularly in it for years now. It still looks the same, too - although there's a cot in it. He frowns. Is he sharing with Charlie? Who's sleeping in Charlie's room?

Percy dismisses the questions for now and unclasps his traveling cloak, then peels off his own sweater to replace it with the dark blue one his mum knitted for him, 'P' picked out in gold. He adjusts the collar of his shirt and makes sure the tie knot lies correctly, then goes back downstairs and into the front hall, where he stops short.

"Steve?"

Steve is standing in the doorway, holding a sprig of mistletoe to the top of the door, and Ginny is pointing her wand at it, finishing a Sticking Charm. 

"That's that." She pushes her wand through her topknot, and Steve lets go of the mistletoe. It stays in place. Ginny turns and grins at Percy. "Thanks for letting me borrow him, Perce. Very tall." To Steve, she adds, "Thanks. Loads easier to have someone hold it in place."

"My pleasure," Steve says, and Ginny gives Percy an uncomfortably knowing grin as she leaves.

"Steve, what are you doing here?"

Steve's brow furrows. "You're not -?"

"No!" Percy steps forward, not sure what to do with his hands for a moment, then realizes he's not fooling anyone here, so he puts them on Steve's arms. "No. I'm  _ so _ happy you're here. Just - how? Why? Wait, did my mum knit you a sweater too?"

"Yeah, she shoved it at me as soon as I got here." It's dark red with an 'S' knitted on it. "I had the time off accrued, and Hawk was pushing me to take it after - everything. I worked it all out with Hermione. Nothing's happening with Sarah until the new year, so." He smiles. "Surprise." 

"Surprise," Percy echoes, and he feels an answering smile stretching his face. "I'm going to have a word with Hermione."

Steve smirks. "Bet that won't be the only thing you'll have with her." He glances up, then clears his throat. Percy follows his gaze and sees the mistletoe still dangling there. He looks back at Steve. 

"You're the other one in my room, aren't you?" 

Steve nods. Percy smiles and leans in, and Steve's hands come up to rest on his hips. 

"I don't intend to sleep on the cot," Steve murmurs against Percy's mouth.

"I won't tell," Percy replies, then kisses Steve. When he pulls back, he looks down, shakes his head. 

"I can't believe she knitted you a sweater."

"I told her how much I loved her muffins." Steve grins obnoxiously, and Percy rolls his eyes.

"Come on, Ginny's going to start spreading all sorts of torrid rumors about us. Let's go." He moves to step away, but Steve tightens his grip on Percy's waist.

"Wait." Steve feels his troublemaking smile grow, and he steps forward, closing the distance between them once more. In a voice barely above a whisper, he adds, "I brought the handcuffs."

He hears a soft inhale of breath, and Percy's hands tighten on his arms in return. He lifts his eyes to Steve's again, and Steve closes the distance between them again, hungry and fierce.

"OI!" George yells from the living room. "Ginny says you two are STILL snogging in there! You gonna let the man have some gingerbread, Perce?"

They break apart, and Percy looks awkwardly apologetic.

"It's not going to get better."

"I'm spending Christmas with you. It can't." Steve reaches out and hesitantly takes Percy's hand. It takes Percy a moment, but he twines his fingers with Steve's. "What's this I hear about gingerbread?"

"It's great. You'll eat two trays of it."

Steve squeezes Percy's hand and they go into the living room - maybe not with a solid idea of the future, or an official label, but together. For right now, for gingerbread and tea and laughter and handcuffs, that's enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's that! Thanks for reading - I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> THE MACUSA TEAM WILL RETURN
> 
> (...probably ;))


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